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THE CONFESSIONS 


OF 


AN IMP. 





A NARRATIVE . 



J. E. RHODES & CO., 20 CLIFF ST., N. Y. 



Copyright, 1886, 

By J. E. Rhodes & Co. 


Drummond & Neu, 
Electrotypers, 

1-7 Hague Street, N. Y. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Story of my Innocent Infancy 7 

CHAPTER II. 

My First Victim, or How I Became the Murderer of an Innocent 
Babe 15 

CHAPTER III. 

Victim Number Two. I Finish the Work of my Predecessors.... 20 
CHAPTER IV. 

Victim Number Three. A New and Peculiar Phase of a Rum- 
Demon’s Work 26 

CHAPTER V. 

A Narrative Illustrating How the Demon of Rum Steals the 
Livery of Heaven 33 

CHAPTER VI. 

A Narrative Illustrating Another Phase of my Reflex Influence 3I 
CHAPTER VII. 

A Narrative Illustrating my Subtle Work behind a Masked Bat- 
tery 49 


4 


CONTENTS. 


4 

CHAPTER VIII. 

PAGE 

A Sad Narrative ; or, How a Bright Youth Touched, Tasted, and 
Fell 56 

CHAPTER IX. 

I Find a Shining Mark. A Narrative Embodying a Terrible Ex- 
* perience 66 

CHAPTER X. 

I Triumph over the Law, Make a Mockery of a Statute, and a 

Farce of Justice 74 

CHAPTER XI. 

How the Penalty Fell upon a Man who Never Got Drunk 83 

CHAPTER XII. 

A Narrative wherein I Make a Revelation and Uncover a Family 

Skeleton 90 

CHAPTER XIII. 

I Go through Soiled Ermine, Present a Sad Phase and a Fa- 
miliar Figure 100 

CHAPTER XIV. 

I Illustrate a Sadly Unrecognized Phase of the Reflex Influence. 107 
CHAPTER XV. 

I Present One Case among Millions, and a Phase the Saddest 
of All 1 13 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Old Story, Illustrating the Inconsistency of Municipal Gov- 
ernment 126 

CHAPTER XVII. 

I Present a Bulwark over which the Rum-Demon Cannot Climb.. 133 


INTRODUCTION. 


Since the completion of the “ Confessions of an Imp” it has 
been suggested that the author has conveyed the inference that 
a great many clergymen, and a great many professing Christians, 
indulge moderately in the use of liquor. The writer did not so 
intend to be understood, as it is a fact that but few American 
clergymen use liquor, and the great majority bravely and man- 
fully denounce it ; and it is to be hoped that the few will join the 
many and make the pulpit brigade a solid phalanx. 

Unfortunately there are too many professing Christians who 
do drink liquor in moderation ; and it is also a fact that many 
of the latter fall away from their duties, and again too frequently 
become victims of the worst type ; and it is to be hoped that 
these also will turn from the wooing allurements so that the 
whole church may combat the great evil and stand a unit against 
its encroachments. 

Just one word more. The author is not a Utopian, and recog- 
nizes all the difficulties in the way of a successful extirpation of 
the Rum Demon. Remedial measures can be only partially suc- 
cessful ; but let every influence that should be adverse to the use 
of liquor combine, let these influences crystallize into a great 
means for the making of public sentiment, and in time preven- 
tive measures may be adopted which will save coming genera- 
tions from the overshadowing curse. It may take time to crush 
the monster ; and to do so the work must commence now, and 
it must be prosecuted with vigor by all those whom intelligence 
and Christianity naturally constitute the enemies of the evil and 
the conservators of the present happiness and eternal welfare of 
their fellow-man ! 




c 


In Shadow. To the Front. 

See Chapter V . 






THE STORY OF MY INNOCENT INFANCY. 

AM of most ancient lineage, and was 
born in Ohio, when, in deference to the 
season, Mother Earth had donned her 
mantle of green, and when my father, 
the Sun, being in a genial and tem- 
perate mood, was beaming his most 
benignant smiles. 

It is still delightful to recall memo- 
ries of my infancy, as with my myriad 
brothers we were as tender and delicate, yet thrifty, a 
family of sprouts as ever drew nourishment from the 
bosom of a generous mother. 

My first recollections commence on the day when my 
foster-father, an opulent farmer on whose estate we 
were born, came out to view us for the first time; and I 
remember how with great satisfaction he exclaimed, 
“This promises to be the most abundant crop I ever 
raised !” 

My early childhood was not distinguished by any re- 
markable event. Through the early summer days my 
playmates were the whispering winds, and through the 
nights gently falling dews crowned my head with glit- 
tering globules wherewith to greet the morning sun. 

My experience, however, was not always so pleasant. 



8 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMF. 


The wind did not always come to woo, nor the rain to 
bless. As the season advanced I learned to tremble 
under the furious outbursts of wrath of these my usually 
kind friends, but soon came to bear patiently their 
changeful humors, as the benefits I derived from them 
even in their wildest fury were refreshing and healthful, 
compared to the agony endured during the periods of 
their prolonged absence. 

I recall how the wind in its mad passion would some- 
times crush me prone to the ground, and fiercely dash 
the reluctant rain in copious torrents; but soon its fright- 
ful fury would pass away, ready hands would lift me up, 
the sorrowful clouds would drop gentle tears of condo- 
lence, and the repentant wind would come stealing softly 
back with healing on its wings, and shake the glistening 
tears from my budding leaves. 

These were precious moments in my experience, made 
more so when ofttimes the evening sun with reassuring 
rays would flash a smile of approval upon the sweet 
reconciliation. 

This pleasant period of my existence speedily passed 
away, and at length the time approached when I was 
called upon to encounter more serious perils. As I grew 
older, deadly enemies appeared in the shape of flocks of 
noisy and ominous-looking crows, whose hateful caw- 
ing sent thrills of horror to my very roots. 

As I look back upon those hours of terror, I read in 
the appearance of those fierce destroyers a premonitory 
likeness to the career to which I was destined. It is 
well they are clothed in feathers of Egyptian blackness, 
those winged imps of destruction; and it would be most 
fortunate for mankind if the devil, whom it has been my 
fate to serve, would clothe all his servitors in a like fore- 
warning manner and in less gilded and alluring trap- 
pings. 


THE STORY OF MY INNOCENT INFANCY. 9 


Later on I received even a greater shock and a more 
striking foreshadowing of my future mission of evil. 

One early dawn, just as the first rays of the rising sun 
kissed my drowsy eyelids and dried away the flashing 
drops of dew that rested on my fast-ripening crest, I 
beheld a frightful object standing in our midst. 

I subsequently Learned that it was placed there for our 
protection, and was called a Scarecrow. 

Little did I dream how in my later career I should 
become the maker of hundreds of living realities, the 
exact counterparts of this dreadful semblance. And 
further, I was to possess both the power and the will to 
infuse into my victims a spirit of brutal cruelty in con- 
sonance with their horrible appearance; and instead of 
having objects set up to scare me off, I was to receive 
encouragement where I had the least right to expect it, 
and even the warrant of law to enslave and destroy. 

My first and only happy summer soon passed; and as 
the chilly air of autumn began to sear the richness of 
my vernal attire, the time arrived when myself and 
brothers were to be plucked from the bosom of our lov- 
ing mother who had so generously nourished us, and 
harvested for the fulfilment of our intended evil career. 

Without one pang of regret we were carted from the 
fields of our childhood. With the inconsiderate thought- 
lessness of youth, we indulged anticipatory longings 
to rush forward and grasp our future, surrendering the 
assured happiness of the present for visionary pictur- 
ings of brighter scenes beyond. 

At length I found myself in a commodious barn, 
where I enjoyed a few days of rest. Thus far my career 
had been one of constant delight. But, alas ! the morn- 
ing of my evil destiny at length dawned. I remember 
how through the preceding night I had lain and thought 
over what the future of the family would be, and 


10 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


when day broke I waited impatiently for the coming of 
the good farmer to feed his stock. When he appeared I 
improved my opportunity and managed to conceal my- 
self under the collar of his coat. 

From this time forward, in order to preserve the clear- 
ness of the incidents of my narrative, I shall speak in the 
first person singular. I desire my readers to remember 
that later on I became the evil spirit of the barrel, en- 
joying all the privileges of an omnipresent and almost 
omnipotent devil; and I am assured I can best serve the 
purposes of this truthful history by relating the experi- 
ences of the million imps of the barrel as centred in my- 
self. 

As stated above, I managed to ensconce myself under 
the collar of the good farmer’s coat. Hardly had he 
concluded his duties in the barn, when an incident oc- 
curred which settled the question of my future career, so 
that I was diverted from my original mission of benefi- 
cence and peace to become the Demon of Rum, the 
lieutenant of the Arch-fiend himself. 

- A man who, as I afterwards learned, was a miller, met 
the farmer at the barn door. He had come as a pur- 
chaser. From the first I was prepossessed in his favor, 
and earnestly hoped he would become the successful 
buyer. But to my sorrow, while the bargaining was in 
progress, a shadow fell before the barn door, and a man 
approached whose looks filled me with instinctive dread. 
I will not attempt to describe his appearance in detail. 
I will only state that he possessed a sharp face, and an 
expression of deep cunning and possible malice in his 
eyes. Later on I learned that this man was a famous 
distiller, and his bloated face betrayed signs of an over- 
indulgence in the products of his own distillery. He also 
had come as a purchaser; and I blush to confess that my 
foster-father, the farmer, had no scruples as to whether 


THE STORY OF MY INNOCENT INFANCY. 


II 


I fell to the miller, who would have transformed me into 
the angel of a health-giving and life-sustaining substance, 
or whether I became the property of the distiller, who 
was to transform me into the evil spirit of a fiery liquid 
of destruction. 

I sat and listened to the bargaining. The distiller 
became the successful purchaser; the difference of a few 
cents per bushel fixed my fate, and, through no fault of 
mine, I was destined to become the hero of the terrible 
experiences I am about to relate. 

The man I have described as my purchaser is not 
more responsible for the diverting of myself and kindred 
to a career of destructiveness than are they who, from 
inexcusable ignorance of my deadly properties or in 
deference to misguided popular opinion, lend encourage- 
ment upon any pretext whatever to the slightest coquetry 
with me in my transformed state. 

Moderatioji is a deceit: it is inscribed upon the label 
of every bottle from which I glide. My mission is not 
simply to cater to drunkards, but to make them. Per- 
mit me to enter the system, and I possess all the neces- 
sary weapons for the continuance of the work of phy- 
sical and moral destruction. Check my first entrance, 
and I am totally powerless. And to a large class let me 
earnestly urge the dismissal of the erroneous impression 
that I permanently assist the digestive or any other 
organs. This impression is the broadest highway along 
which I make my devilish progress. 

Let me be recognized at my true value, and the occu- 
pation of the heartless distiller will be gone. 

This moralizing by a confessed demon may appear 
strange, but I wish it understood that this autobi- 
ography is a cofifession j and, although I shall conceal 
nothing of my wickedness, I desire my readers to bear 
in mind that I was sold into the service of the devil, 


12 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP . 


and in a transformed state compelled to do his work. 
Through all I retained a remembrance of my early 
tender training and Heaven-intended mission; through- 
out I was an unwilling slave; but, having accomplished 
my mission of evil, I claim the right, as my only means 
of reparation, to use my past terrible experience as a 
wail of warning. I did my work well, and all that re- 
mains for me now is a tear for my victims and the erec- 
tion of signs of “ Beware” at the entrances to all the 
dens that are but a rapid road to ruin. With an apology 
for this digression, I resume my narrative. 

The moment the distiller opened his lips and gave 
utterance in a husky voice to an inquiry as to the price, 
I was seized with an instinctive dread; and when his 
negotiation resulted in a purchase, I burned with a 
hatred so intense that I trembled at the violence of a 
hitherto unrecognized element in my nature. 

From this moment my whole being underwent a 
change. I developed a sourness in my disposition which 
made me an excellent subject for the mash-tub, in 
which I was soon immersed under the personal super- 
vision of my vile purchaser. 

The foreign substance infused into me to add to my 
buoyancy only developed the hidden germs of evil and 
inflamed my worst passions. From the tub of demoral- 
ization I was soon transferred to a huge still, where all 
my remaining nobler qualities were boiled out of me, 
and the transforming process was completed. In a 
vapory column I rose from the seething cUbris of my 
former self through a snake-like tube, modestly called a 
worm. And as I slowly oozed forth in liquid form and 
fell into the receiving-tank, it seemed as though I saw 
myriads of little horned devils disporting themselves 
with impish glee, straining and panting to set out on 
their mission of destruction. 


THE STORY OF MY INNOCENT INFANCY. 1 3 


I had now passed through all the preparatory processes, 
and the transit to my designated barrel was speedily 
effected. Here I received some new and improved weap- 
ons, to make more certain my powers for mischief. Sweet- 
oil was added to give a plausible and smooth exterior. 
Fusel-oil — a deadly poison — fulfilled the office of a 
mask which concealed my fiery vigor and tickled the 
vanity of my victims, by enabling me to assume the ap- 
pearance of old age. Tannin served the purpose of gen- 
eral utility, possessing the property of lending a tem- 
porary activity to the digestive organs and nerves of my 
victims, while in fact for every apparent benefit it confers, 
it exacts and destroys thrice the amount of genuine re- 
cuperative strength. Strychnine, my most powerful 
weapon, was given me as a reserve force. When my 
other weapons fail, this fearful agent sustains for a while 
a false flicker of strength, and then, gathering together 
the festering remnant of once vigorous organs, paralyzes 
them at a single stroke, and the work is done. It is death 
that follows — a miserable death, leaving a disfigured and 
loathsome corpse. 

Having received my weapons, I secured my commis- 
sion in the shape of government and local license — a 
license to go forth and to be dealt out to old and young, 
strong and weak, wicked and innocent, the wise and 
foolish — and to destroy them all. 

And now, dear reader, having related the story of my 
preparatory course, and how I was armed, equipped, and 
licensed, I begin the story of my own campaign against 
virtue, health, honor, beauty, fidelity, and all that is pure 
and bright and useful, and parade before you the ghosts 
of my victims as the spectres appeared to the fevered 
brain of King Richard. 

From the distillery I was transferred to that gilded 
palace, a modern bar-room, one of those isles of the 


14 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


sirens where the music is the clicking of the glasses — a 
music more alluring than the songs that forced Ulysses 
to fill the ears of his crew with wax, and to have himself 
lashed to the mast. So it ever is. The Demon of Rum 
makes his surroundings splendid and enticing, even as 
the stiletto is more highly polished when its point is 
smeared with a deadly poison. The bar-room, alas ! 
despite all its splendors is but a death-cavern ; the click 
of every glass is a warning; the popping of every cork, 
a death-knell; every laugh, a delusion. Some future 
Burns may yet win imperishable fame by a tale more 
fearful than the death-dance in “ Alloway’s auld haunted 
kirk,” should he picture the march of a ghostly train of 
my victims into some old-established bar. There would 
come the executed murderer with the rope about his neck; 
there, the suicide carrying the bloody knife with which 
he ended his drunken career; there, the ruined gambler 
with his fatal cards; there, the besotted mother who 
smothered her innocent babe. Each day is adding to the 
ranks of such a procession. And each day will continue 
to add to them so long as the devil’s elixir of death — 
Rum — is permitted to be made and dealt out amid all 
the allurements and blandishments of the modern bar- 
room. 




MY FIRST VICTIM, OR HOW I BECAME THE MUR- 
DERER OF AN INNOCENT BABE. 

WAS bottled and conspicuously displayed 
behind the bar by the deft hands of my 
intended dispenser — the bartender. 

The latter was a good representative 
of his class; not a bad fellow by any 
means, he did not look like one who 
fully realized the iniquity of dealing out Death. In- 
deed, when I first beheld him, I was rather pleased 
with his appearance. He was good-looking, wore a per- 
ennial smile, appeared very obliging and cheerful, and 
was a witty and merry talker. 

It chanced to be night when I was drawn from the 
barrel, bottled and shelved. As I am a ubiquitous little 
imp, I soon managed to squeeze out of my domicile, and, 
taking a seat on the cork, prepared for observations. 

It was a magnificent room in which I found myself; 
the ceiling was gorgeously frescoed, the walls richly 
papered, and the floor of marble. The bar was con- 
structed of solid mahogany, backed with mirrors, while 
elegant glassware was displayed on every hand. And 
all this magnificence, such as one might look for in the 
dining salon of a royal prince, may be found in thou- 



1 6 THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 

sands of similar places prepared to entice the unwary to 
ruin. 

I sat on my cork enjoying all the beautiful things 
around me, meditating on the fact that Death lay under 
all this magnificence and glitter, when my first victim en- 
tered. The bartender had been idle for a long time, and 
was aroused from a quiet doze by a respectably dressed, 
refined, and gentle-looking young man, who came to the 
bar and asked, 

“ Have you a bottle of pure whiskey ?” 

Pure whiskey ! I laughed and fixed my eyes on the in- 
quirer. I could see from his manner that he was not an 
habitue of such places. He advanced to the bar with a 
frightened look, appeared ashamed, and lacked the as- 
surance and air of swagger characteristic of an old-time 
customer. I wondered what such a fine and honorable- 
appearing young man could want with a bottle of “pure 
whiskey.” It was not long before my curiosity was 
gratified. 

The bartender assured his customer that he had the 
best whiskey in the world. Such extravagance of expres- 
sion is common in the bar-room. In a faltering and 
apologetic tone, the customer said, 

“The doctor has prescribed whiskey for my wife: she 
is nursing an infant.” 

I saw the bartender glance over toward the bottle 
where I sat, and, discerning that I had been selected as 
the “ best in the world,” I crawled back under the cork 
to be ready for the work before me. Later on I was 
duly boxed and nicely wrapped up. They made a square 
bundle of me, because the young man did not wish any 
one to know he was carrying home a bottle. But a bot- 
tle it was, all the same, and in the bottle was I, the fiery 
Demon of Rum with all my weapons prepared for ser- 
vice. 


MY FIRST VICTIM. 


17 

When next I took observations I found myself in a 
comfortable home,— a home where such as I rarely visit. 
I must confess I felt out of place, but I had my mission 
to fulfil, and was ready for my work. It was not my 
fault that I was changed from bread to the Demon of 
Rum, and all that remained for me was to get down to 
business. 

Before me I saw a delicate but lovely woman. In her 
arms was a healthy and beautiful babe ; and from the 
conversation that followed I learned that the latter was 
to be my first victim. She was a young mother, and the 
babe was her first-born. Evidently she was not strong, 
but she was devoted and heroic, and appeared to have 
determined to nurse her child, lest by some mischance 
it might be fed swill-milk, and its tender life destroyed. 

Now, dear reader, permit a brief explanation. Swill- 
milk is a production from cows that have been fed upon 
a decoction made from the refuse of a distillery after 
the active principle has been extracted. It is a fact that 
there still remains enough of the active principle in the 
refuse to disease the animals who are fed upon it for 
any length of time. The milk of such animals is very 
deleterious, and careful mothers shudder with horror at 
the idea of feeding such a vile fluid to their babes. 

Now mark the inconsistency. The same mother who 
shudders at the idea of feeding her child with what is 
called swill-milk will herself take the active principle 
— the fiery extract in all its concentrated strength — 
drink it as a nourishment, and thus complacently, and, 
I may add, ignorantly, feed her babe swill-milk fro?n 
her own breast, and ofttimes under a physician’s direc- 
tion. 

But I will resume. With trembling hand the father 
poured out a portion from the bottle, tasted it, and shud- 
dered as he remarked, “ I guess it is pure !” 

9 


18 the confessions of an inf. 

Later on a small quantity was poured into a glass, 
water was added, and the false nourisher thus diluted 
was passed to the mother to drink. Well, so be it ! Di- 
lution does not destroy me , nor weaken my power for de- 
struction under any form in which I may be adminis- 
tered; under all processes by which I may pass in or 
out of the human system, I preserve my vigor. I may 
be masked, but not disarmed. 

The mother shuddered and trembled, and the tears 
were forced to her eyes as I glided down her throat. 
Well, it was meet that her eyes should fill with tears. 
They came involuntarily; not because she pierced the 
veil and saw what was to come. But I did. 

In due time the mother took her infant to her breast. 
Again dilution did not disarm me. Because I was con- 
cealed in a mother’s milk, I was none the less powerful 
and destructive, and at once I commenced my deadly 
work upon the tender organs of the babe. 

Time passed. The mother imagined that she gained 
in strength. Well, yes, it must have seemed so, for I 
was prepared to afford a false and treacherous exhilara- 
tion which could readily be mistaken for strength. The 
effect upon the child was different. From the very first 
its powers began to fail. Its little organs were too deli- 
cate to be even momentarily exhilarated, and decay fol- 
lowed the introduction of the diluted poison. The doctor 
came, he who had prescribed the death elixir, and he 
was baffled. He could not tell why the child should 
grow weaker and weaker. “ The mother seems well,” 
he said, “but unfortunately you cannot tell about chil- 
dren.” He administered remedies; but, observe, pass- 
ing daily through the lips of the doomed child, I killed 
the 7 n off, and at last, with the final spasm that ended the 
murdered babe’s life, came forth victorious. 

My work was done! I sat on my cork over the half- 


MY FIRST VICTIM. 


19 


empty bottle when the little coffin was brought in. I 
heard the mother’s wail of anguish, and saw the tears 
stream down upon her despairing face! And when the 
funeral was in progress, unseen of the mourners, the in- 
signia of mourning on my arm, I stood beside the coffin 
of my victim, and I tied the white ribbons about the 
neck of the bottle from which I had been poured to do 
this cruel deed — the murder of a helpless babe ! 




VICTIM NUMBER TWO. I FINISH THE WORK OF 
MY PREDECESSORS. 

RETURNED to my barrel in the bar- 
room. I, as my readers must know, 
was the evil genius of the barrel, and 
when bottled and sent off on special 
duty, always returned as soon as my 
mission was completed, and waited for 
a new assignment. 

It was early morning. The saloon had just been 
opened after a night spent in revel by a party of men, who 
were possibly at that moment sitting on what is called 
the stool of repentance; for momentary repentance often 
comes to my victims, when with clenched teeth they 
swear never to taste, touch, or handle again. But it is 
unfortunately only too true that Hell is paved with 
just such good resolutions. 

I was seated on my cork, indulging in my usual pas- 
time of observation, when there came into the place the 
most horrible apparition, or semblance, of what might 
once have been a man. This blear-eyed, miserable 
object shuffled feebly up to the bar and demanded a 
whiskey cocktail. The necessary ingredients were mixed 
in a glass, and then the bartender reached over for my 
bottle. I deserted the cork and went down, and a mo- 



VICTIM NUMBER TWO. 


21 


ment later was ensconced in the glass, dressed in all the 
deceptions that constitute the component parts of a 
whiskey cocktail. The poor wretch grasped the glass 
and sought to raise me to his lips; and then the struggle 
began — a bitter fight between appetite a?id outraged nature. 
The glass was raised but half way, when nervous repul- 
sion set in — the poor victim was physically powerless to 
raise me to his bloated lips. It was a final effort of the 
nerve-forces in defence of their citadel; the immortal 
soul was struggling to defend its tabernacle. The higher 
nature was locked in a death-struggle with the lower. 
It was an unequal contest, however. The bartender, not 
unused to such exhibitions, came to the latter’s assist- 
ance. He did not, indeed, understand the moral side of 
the struggle, but its practical aspect only too well. He 
seized the glass and forced it to the victim’s lips. I 
glided down the blistered throat. I had won ! The 
victory was mine, but, alas! what a scene of ruin and 
decay met my gaze ! 

It was the first time I had ever entered where my pre- 
decessors had been so long at work; and such a mass of 
animate corruption as I beheld, makes a shudder run 
through me at the remembrance. I roamed up and down 
through this rotting framework of nerves and tissues, 
and the sight was sickening. There were evidences that 
it had once been a magnificent specimen of the Creator’s 
handiwork. The man was but thirty-two; yet all that 
was left of him was a putrid mass of flesh clinging to a 
framework of bones. 

I commenced a careful investigation; I held, as it were, 
an ante-mortem autopsy on the poor creature’s kidneys; 
and what did I behold ? One of these organs was a mass 
of disease: the toughest of all the vital parts, it had suc- 
cumbed to the deadly poison it had been called upon to 
encounter. I found it greatly swollen and adhering in 


22 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


places to the surrounding tissue. It was affected in every 
part, changed in color, and hard and soft in spots, while 
the discharge of an ulcer was rapidly making its way 
into the abdominal cavity. The situation po?'iended speedy 
death. 

From this appalling sight I ascended toward the 
brain; the heart, well, well! that sturdy little engine 
had lost most of its original power, and its throbbings, 
soon to stop forever, were fast and slow, strong and 
weak by turns. Poor heart ! from which had vanished 
all sentiments but one — the love of liquor ! Alas ! it 
were well it should cease its throbbings and let its last 
love die ! I entered the brain. Here also were ruin and 
decay. Enough remained to show what a powerful force 
it once had been. In its ruin it retained the outline of 
its former magnificence, but disintegration had long ago 
set in, and where once had reigned in splendid brilliancy 
all the attributes of intellect there had succeeded the 
thickening mists of fast-approaching idiocy. Here, too, 
the poisons had done their work. Equipments similar 
to those with which I was armed had been used in the 
siege, and it was left for me to make the last grand as- 
sault upon the soul-chamber. It was to be an easy con- 
quest; the defences were rotting away; the victory was 
already mine. 

It was not my time to weep then. I reserved the tears 
until now, and set myself to discover who this man o?ice 
had been. I glided down the cleft separating the cerebral 
hemispheres, and after a general survey burrowed in one 
of the memory-cells, and there from his own brain-record 
read his history. 

He had been born on a farm, and his early training 
and mode of life resulted in developing a frame of 
wonderful strength and healthfulness. His God had en- 
dowed him with high mental qualities. He became con- 


VICTIM NUMBER TWO. 


23 


scious of his own brain-power, and ambitious to culti- 
vate his splendid natural gifts. By steady attendance to 
his duties and the practice of frugality he saved enough 
money to pay his expenses through a collegiate course, 
after having improved every opportunity for previous 
preparation. While in college he resisted all the allure- 
ments attendant on a student’s life. His ambition 
spurred him on to work, and his splendid physique sup- 
plied the necessary endurance. He closed his term win- 
ner of the highest college prizes, and won from his 
tutors and fellow-students alike the plaudits and recog- 
nition he so well deserved. He determined to become a 
clergyman, and entered the theological school, where 
again he devoted himself to his studies with unfailing 
industry, and there also graduated first in his class. He 
secured a charge, and his eloquence charmed and elec- 
trified his audiences. His commanding talents won ap- 
plause on every side. And still he pressed on to higher 
things, devoting to study every spare moment snatched 
from his pastoral duties. 

At length even his magnificent physical organization 
rebelled against this increasing toil. His nervous sys- 
tem, wrought upon beyond endurance, broke down; and 
it was at this moment the tempter came. 

One good friend, a physician, as honest as he was 
skilful, said, “You must not work so hard; you must 
take exercise; give your nervous system a rest; the 
strain has been too great even for a constitution undoubt- 
edly as strong as yours.” The student turned sadly 
away. He could not spare the time for exercise. No, 
no, he must work, work, even though it ended in 
death. The physician’s advice was not heeded, and the 
devil stepped in under the guise of an old woman with a 
red nose. Through her Satan whispered, “All you 
need is a little toning up; your system is run down; 


24 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP . 


take a little stimulant; it will do the work and cost you 
no precious time.” 

As usual the honest man’s honest opinion was in oppo- 
sition to inclination; while the devil, ever pliant and 
obliging, fell into accord with the ruling weakness. 
The devil’s advice prevailed. 

This man of splendid physique and wonderful brain- 
power decided to take an occasional glass of whiskey to 
tone up his nerves. Drinking men call it “ bracing up,” 
but it is the same thing. The Demons of Rum do not 
care under what scientific, pet, or slang names you cul- 
tivate them; their mission is the same, and also their 
power. 

The toning-up process began, and I can well imagine 
how my kinsman who first set about demolishing this 
noble physical structure, must have gloated over his 
task; how cheerfully he afforded the temporary and 
delightful exhilaration that seemed the restoration of 
nerve-force; how each day by subtle approaches he 
created the need for additional building; and how like a 
Virginius reserving his pent-up passion he might have 
exclaimed, “ Oh, I’ll be patient unto the end, until you 
are mine!” 

Reader, need I proceed ? Seven years had completed 
the work. The putrid mass through which I was revel- 
ling, and the softening brain from which I gathered 
the incidents above related, were all that remained of 
that once promising structure which God had created ! 
Genius is not a bulwark. Indeed, where there are brilliancy, 
wisdom, generosity, and all then obler qualities, we make 
our deadliest assaults; it is there we win our easiest 
and most complete victories. Our surest roads are over 
high-strung and delicately sensitive nerves. Like Death, 
we choose a “ shining mark." The most gifted, physically 
and mentally, are our surest prey; for when once they 


VICTIM NUMBER TWO. 25 

coquet with us, they most readily and certainly succumb 
to our allurements. 

'But let me finish my narrative. I remained with my 
second victim to the end. It came speedily. Life flick- 
ered but a short time in the ruined structure, and the 
light went out. I left him only when a number was at- 
tached to the shroud and the remains were tossed into a 
pauper’s grave to await the sounding of the last trump. 




VICTIM NUMBER THREE. A NEW AND PECULIAR 
PHASE OF A RUM-DEMON’S WORK. 



RANKNESS compels me to admit that 
there are rare instances where individu- 
als have held communion with the De- 
mon of Rum and furnished no strikingly 
visible evidence of injury. It is true 
that there are men living who have 
passed the threescore-and-ten life-post, and still remain 
to boast that the use of liquor has never harmed them; 
that they have never permitted it to become their mas- 
ter. At a glance it might appear that this declaration 
is true. But it is not ! In these cases we do our work 
all the same. They present phases of what may be called 
our reflex influence, under which our weapons glance off 
the guilty and strike the innocent. These are the cases 
where the just suffer for the unjust; and these sufferings 
are often more bitter in the end than when the penalties 
are visited directly upon the head of the offender. In- 
deed, it would be more merciful did only the guilty suf- 
fer ; but there is no bar to our evil influence, no line we 
cannot cross when once admitted within the circle. 

Were the tears we have caused to flow from innocent eyes 
run into one channel, they would make a torrent of sufficient 



VICTIM NUMBER THREE. 


2 ; 


depth to submerge all the distilleries in Christendom. Were 
the innocent blood we have caused to be shed , smeared over the 
face of the earth, it would stain every square foot of ground on 
the continent of America. Were the heart-burnings and the 
injustices and cruelties perpetrated by men wider the influence 
of rum (/ allude to life-long moderate drinkers only) catalogued 
in one volume, the record would take ages to transcribe. 

Yes, we admit there are moderate drinkers, men of 
strong will, whom we can overcome only after long years 
of assault. But through them we frequently get in our 
heaviest strokes, because they carry us into fields which, 
under other circumstances, we could never reach. We 
do not object to the moderate drinker; we love him. He 
is our strongest support. He covers us with a mantle of 
respectability. He stands between us and annihilation 
under prohibitory laws. He supplies our subjects and 
furnishes our recruits. 

Without the successful moderate drinkers our occupation 
would be gone. They are our standing army of defence. 
Behind their lines and under their guard, we do the most 
of our devilish work. 

But to return to my story. In the true narrative that 
follows, I propose to show one method through which 
my direct influence is not recognized; and, I will add, 
that in a modified form, and under different disguises, 
my brothers in evil, work millions of schemes such as I 
now proceed to relate. 

I had returned from Potter’s Field, where Victim Num- 
* ber Two had been cast into a pauper’s grave, and was 
once more seated on my cork. It was early in the after- 
noon, and a man, whom I had occasionally seen in the 
place, entered with two friends. The three sauntered 
up to the bar, and the hero of this little narrative, whom 
I shall designate as Mr. Moderate, called out, “ Give 
us some whiskey !” 


28 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


I went down quite delighted into my bottle, as I had 
long desired to become acquainted with Mr. Moderate 
and learn what sort of fellow he was. I was anxious to 
discover just how I could operate on one of his class. 
I was speedily gratified. 

Again I desire my readers to remember that I was the 
genius of the barrel j my little imps of the bottle may 
some day write their own history, although I have as- 
sumed the right to embody much of their experience in 
mine. 

I was passed over in proper shape to the party, and 
soon glided down Mr. Moderate’s throat. I could see 
that the work had already commenced, but the man did 
not as yet imbibe quite frequently enough to invite, in 
his case, a speedy demolition. An increased appetite 
was all that was needed, and I could see, from little in- 
flammations here and there, that the influence was at 
work. But to my story. 

Mr. Moderate paid for the drinks — just forty-five cents. 
A few moments passed when another of the party ex- 
tended an invitation for a “ repeater,” and ere that had 
been disposed of, several other friends came in and the 
company was increased to six. Mr. Moderate, after a 
season, invited the gentlemen to “repeat” with him, and 
ninety cents more was paid, making a total thus far of 
one dollar and thirty-five cents. I wish my readers to 
observe and reme?nber the figures. 

The gentlemen were having a merry time as they 
gradually fell under my influence, and their several rul- 
ing weaknesses were developed. It is amusing what 
hallucinations will arise in the mind of a half-intoxicated 
man. I have heard such fellows boast of the beauty of 
their daughters, who afterwards were discovered to be 
hare-lipped and cross-eyed. In these mellow conditions, 
men are apt to fall into a discussion of the virtues of 


VICTIM NUMBER THREE. 


29 


their wives; and to hear them talk one would be led 
to think that an angel had been sent down from heaven 
and assigned to each one of them, while at that very 
moment the husbands were wasting the means which in 
all probability their angels needed for earthly comforts. And 
again, nine times out of ten, when the exhilaration is 
dying off, they return home and abuse these angels of 
whom they had spoken so lovingly. It is wonderful how 
all the good impulses are momentarily stimulated “in 
their minds,” but anything practical is rarely the result. 
Egotism runs riot, and they become possessed of all 
manner of delusions. How polite they become ! How 
sensitive as to their honor! How anxious they are, 
when lowering themselves to the level of the beast, to be 
recognized as gentlemen ! 

As stated, the party had a merry time. Mr. Moderate, 
however, exercised his usual caution, and did not join in 
every “ repeater.” He changed off to a cigar, drank a 
little Vichy now and then. He reached his temperature- 
level and stopped j still he was sufficiently exhilarated to 
fall_under the general influence, and felt called upon to 
invite the party to join with him in a parting drink. He 
paid ninety cents more, making a total of two dol- 
lars and twenty-five cents — a small expenditure even 
for a Mr. Moderate upon such an occasion. And what 
had he received in return? Two glasses of whiskey 
drunk by himself, three poor cigars, and several swallows 
of .Vichy, while he had been entertained for two hours 
with the usual silly talk characteristic of men in front 
of a bar. 

Later on, with one cigar in his pocket, one partly 
smoked between his lips, and myself in his stomach, Mr. 
Moderate started for home. I slid up to his brain and 
learned that in a mild way he was reproaching himself 
for his extravagance. 


30 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


In due time we reached the man’s home; all its ap- 
pointments were comfortable for a man in his circum- 
stances. His wife was a pleasant-faced, cheerful little 
body, and evidently did not discern the impending peril. 
She appeared like a good wife and mother — yes, mother 
— for I saw two of the prettiest fair-haired children I 
had ever beheld. Later on I learned that they were 
twins, and it was not long before I discerned also that a 
little domestic drama was to be enacted in my presence. 
I became conscious that mother and daughters were con- 
spiring to present some-nice little scheme to papa. 

The supper was over, and one of the children climbed 
up on her papa’s lap. I was taking in the whole scene. 
I could see the tremor ripple over the mother’s nerves. 
I could read the anxious glance in the sisters’ eyes. 
Papa Moderate also discerned that something was com- 
ing, and he said, 

“ Well, what does my little girl want to say to papa ?” 

The mother and the child exchanged glances, and the 
little one snuggled more closely to her papa’s bosom. 
The latter’s eyes beamed pleasantly, he caressed and 
kissed his daughter, and in kindly tones repeated his 
question — 

“ Come, what has my little girl to say to me ?” 

It was a pretty domestic tableau presented at that mo- 
ment, a pleasant and interesting scene, as the little girl 
told her story. She told how she and her twin-sister had 
been studying a dialogue together, which they were to 
recite on the occasion of the closing exercises of their 
school. Papa appeared pleased, and the little girl be- 
trayed how for weeks her own and her sister’s thoughts 
had dwelt upon this their first public appearance. 

Mr. Moderate expressed his delight, and then the little 
girl blushed and twisted in his arms, and appeared reluc- 
tant to speak further, but evidently had more to say. 


VICTIM NUMBER THREE. 


31 


The mother encouraged her to proceed, and the great 
trial, as far as the revelation to papa was concerned, was 
over. 

I will here state that they were a careful people, the 
family of Mr. Moderate; and any expenditure outside 
of the daily expenses of the household was always a 
matter of discussion; and it was evident that the revela- 
lation to papa had been duly discussed by mamma and 
her two little girls before being presented to him. 

The disclosure to papa was in the form of a request. 
The teacher had asked the two children to appear in 
white dresses on the occasion when they were to recite 
their dialogue. 

A cloud settled over the good-natured face of Mr. 
Moderate as he demanded, addressing his wife, 

“ Have the children no white dresses?” 

“None fit for the occasion.” 

“ Can they not speak the piece in such dresses as they 
have ?” 

“ Hardly, since the teacher has requested that they 
should appear in white.” 

“ How much will the dresses cost ?” 

“ About four dollars.” 

“ And they must have them ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Very well, then, let some other children speak the 
piece ! Times are too hard! I cannot afford to buy white 
dresses to gratify the pride of a teacher.” 

I will pass over the looks of consternation and disap- 
pointment that followed this decision. The reader’s 
imagination will clearly picture the sorrowful scene. 

Well, let me sum up. The twies were too hard! This 
man received a fixed salary from the government. De- 
pression in business did not affect him. The times were 
too hard ! And that day he had spent two dollars and twenty - 


32 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


five cents for whiskey, more than half what the two dresses 
would have* cost ! He was smarting under a twinge of 
remorse because of his foolish extravagance, and the 
punishment rebounded upon the children. 

The above is but a mild example of my reflex action. 
But consider for a moment the effect of Mr. Moderate's 
seemingly simple refusal. For six weeks these little 
children had been talking and dreaming of the event. 
Indeed, it was the first event of their little lives, and they 
were of that age when joys take stronger hold of the 
imagination, when disappointments sink deeper into the 
heart. And what a trifling barrier stood between them 
and the gratification of their hopes ! Two little white 
dresses ! And their father, Mr. Moderate, — a good and 
kindly man, — could not gratify their wishes because he 
had that day laid half their cost a tribute upon the altar 
of the Demon of Rum. 




A NARRATIVE ILLUSTRATING HOW THE DEMON 
OF RUM STEALS THE LIVERY OF HEAVEN. 

GAIN I occupied my observatory on the 
cork. I had concluded my visit to the 
home of Mr. Moderate, and was on the 
lookout for a new field of operations. 
As usual I had but a short time to 
wait. A gentleman, who, I afterwards 
learned, was a lawyer, came into the place. There are 
plenty of them in the service, in one way and another, 
and this one I shall designate as Mr. Careful. He was, 
indeed, a most careful man. Even his visit to the bar- 
room was made in accordance with his usual methods 
of caution; and as he called for whiskey, he remarked 
incidentally that he was going to a public dinner, and 
wished to “tone up” his stomach a little before sitting 
down to the good things that would be set before him. 

I went down into my bottle, and a few moments later 
glided down the throat of Mr. Careful. In due time, as 
usual, I ascended to his brain, but did not discover much 
to reward my investigations. I perceived he was a cun- 
ning fellow, possessed of no generous qualities, and a 
man who was not likely ever to become a victim of 
devils like myself. He was too hard-hearted, too self- 
ish; he could never serve us. It is men of generous 
3 



34 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP . 


impulses we want; big-hearted, liberal men; men who 
buy us not only for themselves, but for others. This 
fellow possessed none of the better qualities of man- 
hood; he was of the brassy sort; he lacked sentiment; 
he was never stirred by a generous impulse; he was too 
cold-blooded to respond to exhilaration, and was never 
known to become enthusiastic except on the receipt of 
a big retainer, and that he invariably hoarded. In fact, 
he was not worth destruction. 

Although without hope of working on Mr. Careful, I 
was anxious to go to a public dinner, and I imagined he 
would prove good company for such an occasion. In 
due time I reached the room where the grand supper 
was to be enjoyed, and there I encountered a sight that 
would gladden the hearts of a host of devils. 

There was a large company gathered, and I could see 
that liquor was to flow freely. Mr. Careful took a 
peep around, and through him I saw wines of every de- 
scription by the case and liquors of all sorts. There 
was nothing wanting that could add to the exhilara- 
tion of the banqueters. 

Later on, I was witness to a new method for the 
spreading and sustaining of the devil’s influence. Just 
before the commencement of the meal, a gentleman, 
whom I recognized as a clergyman, rose in his seat 
and, I will say, impiously called upon God to “bless the 
meal which through His kindness had been provided.” 

As the clergyman stood with folded hands and up- 
raised eyes, and in solemn voice uttered the supplication, 
I beheld a sight which was not observed by the intend- 
ing revellers. Over the speaker’s shoulder stood the 
Arch-fiend, the master into whose service I had been 
sold, and as the petition was spoken, a broad smile 
illuminated, with devilish significance, his countenance. 

As I witnessed the scene, I wondered at the inconsist- 


THE RUM DEMON IN THE LIVERY OF HEAVEN. 35 

ency. Was not this man enlisted under a banner on 
which is inscribed a declaration of eternal warfare 
against evil? And is not Rum the most powerful in- 
strument of evil permitted to Satan to use in his grand 
struggle to drag men away from heaven, and hurl them 
down to perdition? Yet, here stood this minister of 
righteousness asking the Father of all good to bless a 
meal that was to progress with heavy and continuous 
libations, and terminate in a scene of drunken riot. 

I am told that there are many clergymen who pretend 
to conscientiously advocate “temperance in all things”! 
I laugh. Temperance in all things! The words come 
trippingly on the tongue. But have I not shown, and 
does not every man know, that devils of my type are 
armed with just the weapons to make temperance in the 
use of liquor an impossibility. “Temperance in all 
things!” is our battle-cry. I have heard that a promi- 
nent clergyman once said, “There is not a text in Scrip- 
ture that directly forbids the use of liquor!” Again I 
laugh! Under existing circumstances, and in view of the 
curse Rum is to mankind, I will not speak of the ill- 
advisedness of such a statement coming from such a 
source, even though the statement were true ; but since my 
work is done, I claim the right to speak that which I 
know, and I declare that every text in Scripture is a 
denunciation of the use of intoxicating drinks, because 
every text, and every word of persuasion and admoni- 
tion, is a call to purity and goodness , and a warning against 
vice and evil. And I furthermore claim that, save as a 
medicine administered in moments of extreme danger, 
liquor never did one particle of good in this world. So 
far from doing good, it has destroyed 7nore 77ien and women, 
morally and physically , tha7i any other agent of evil. In a 
million of forms its influence permeates the highways 
of virtue and morality, and snatches therefrom its vie- 


36 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


tims by the thousand. Let the gallows tell its tale! 
Let the suicide come forth and tell his tale! And where 
does rum most revel ? Where are its orgies held ? In the 
gambling-hell. In the brothel, where fair women fes- 
ter and rot, physically and morally. In the bar-room, 
where the young are led astray. And, alas! in the 
private homes into which it has carried discord and 
hate, where it has ruined the honor of husband and 
wife, and whence it has driven all that was good and 
pure. Thus, if the Bible has a mission, and that mission 
is to teach men to lead pure lives, and abstain from 
every evil, and to strive for immortality, then, I claim, 
not only every text, in word and in spirit, but the whole 
spirit of the Bible , is pronounced against Rum . If it is right 
to do all things temperately, and if this text can be tor- 
tured to uiclude the use of liquor in moderation, then, on 
common-sense grounds, in view of the established facts, 
it follows that a temperate indulgence in all manner of 
immorality has the sanction of Holy Writ. 

When clergymen countenance moderation, it is not sim- 
ply toying with fire, it is not merely compromising with 
sin, it is unreservedly giving the devil all he asks and all he 
needs to sustain and propagate vice . Again, the clergyman 
who by word of encouragement, or failure to denounce, 
countenances moderation in drink, becomes a living 
nullification in theory of every moral and Christ-like 
sentiment that falls from his lips or is taught in the book 
of God’s revelation. 

But to resume my narrative. The clergyman who 
had called upon God to bless such a meal did not 
himself partake: he retired in good order before the forces 
of the devil, ere the conflict actually began. And what 
followed ? The usual scene under the inspiration of the 
Demon of Rum. All the several weaknesses of the com- 
pany were developed: some became jolly and boisterous; 


THE RUM DEMON IN THE LIVERY OF HEAVEN. 37 

others, sensitive and disputative to the verge of anger. 
And just when the revelry was at its height, I again 
witnessed a sight not observed by the revellers. 

The clergyman had gone, but Satan re-entered. He 
took his place at the head of the table. He rose with 
mock dignity. An expression of mock solemnity sup- 
plemented the previous smile of derision. His hands 
were upraised in the attitude of asking a blessing: he 
could afford to become a mimic; he had won ! His 
influence had gone out through the lips of the clergyman, 
and he had caught the tone of reverend respectability. 
And there stood the grinning Arch-fiend, a satanic 
satire on the solemn mockery that had opened up the 
scene of drunken riot. 




A NARRATIVE ILLUSTRATING ANOTHER PHASE 
OF MY REFLEX INFLUENCE. 

RETURNED from the public dinner 
where I had accompanied Mr. Careful 
and was once more seated on my obser- 
vatory, the cork. It was a rainy after- 
noon, and business was so lively that I 
was frequently compelled to go down 
while my bottle was being refilled from the barrel. I 
was watching for a victim that would furnish me a 
new experience, and, as usual, I did not have long to 
wait. 

Presently three young men entered the bar-room. 
They were all men of fine physique, evidently well edu- 
cated and possessed of ample means. Such qualities are, 
however, no bar to my influence. To undermine the 
health, to set education at defiance, to reduce wealth to 
poverty, to sear the conscience as with a red-hot iron — 
these have been my mission among men. All I require 
is an invitation to proceed with my work, and by these 
young men it had already been given. 

One of the party particularly interested me. He was 
a decidedly handsome fellow, and his face showed that 
nature had endowed him with a mind of no ordinary 




ANOTHER PHASE OF MY REFLEX INFLUENCE . 39 

power. Notwithstanding this, I could perceive at a 
glance that he was a doomed man. He had evidently 
been trifling with the Demon of Rum for some time. 
In his system the work of demolition was rapidly pro- 
gressing. For me he was a shining mark — one of those 
generous, whole-souled, brilliant fellows who, when once 
they yield to temptation, become an easy prey. 

I listened to the talk of the young men, and learned, 
to my amazement and horror, that it was to be the wed- 
ding-night of the youth whom I have particularly de- 
scribed. With two of his most intimate friends he was 
“ bracing up” for the approaching ceremony. I at once 
determined to make him the object of my attack. When 
passed between his lips I glided down his throat and was 
prepared both to observe and to work. 

Though he did not drink much that afternoon — only 
what he considered sufficient to nerve him for the ap- 
proaching ordeal, yet it was plain that the work of ruin, 
as I have already intimated, was well under way. The 
appetite was fast becoming a craving. All those organs 
of the human system that serve the Demon of Rum were 
properly inflamed, and I soon discerned that it required 
but a little time, a little more indulgence, to develop the 
habit into a seated disease. 

I ascended to the brain. The young man was all in a 
tremor, and I read from his own memory-cells the inci- 
dents that had led up to the marriage which was to take 
place that evening. These were of a singularly roman- 
tic character. 

Charlie Wholeheart, for such is the name by which I 
shall designate this victim, had started in life with every 
advantage on his side. Though his parents had died 
while he was yet a boy, he had been reared in plenty if 
not in luxury. He had passed through a leading college, 
had stood well in all his classes, had graduated with dis- 


40 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


tinguished honors, and had been an athlete besides. On 
coming of age he had received an inheritance which, ju- 
diciously invested, would have afforded him a moderate 
competence all his life. Thus, possessed of an admirable 
physical constitution, an excellent education, and means 
sufficient to make drudgery unnecessary, he seemed 
fitted for any occupation to which chance or inclination 
should direct his attention. 

The summer following his graduation he passed at a 
well-known summer resort; and upon the very day of 
his arrival he performed a deed of bravery which had a 
bearing, not only upon his own life, but upon that of 
another. 

Some young ladies were in a rowboat, when one of 
their companions started in a skiff from the shore, to 
join them. When a little over a hundred yards from the 
beach, the ferry-boat plying between the hotel and the 
railroad station, came along and passed close to the skiff 
containing the young lady. The latter, upon seeing the 
steamer approach, thought her boat was in its track, and 
in her terror dropped the oars and started to her feet. 
As stated, the ferry-boat passed some little distance from 
her, but the swell caused the skiff to rock, and its occu- 
pant was thrown into the water. The girls in the adja- 
cent boat set up a scream, but were too terrified to render 
assistance, and only one person on the ferry-boat had 
been a witness of the accident. 

Charlie Wholeheart had seen the young lady fall into 
the water, and on the instant sprang to her assistance. 
He was compelled to swim some distance, and the girl 
had sunk probably for the last time, when he dived be- 
neath the waves and reappeared upon the surface bear- 
ing her in his arms. He swam with her to the shore, 
where she was taken in charge, carried to the hotel, and 
in due time restored to consciousness. 


ANOTHER PHASE OF MY REFLEX INFLUENCE. 4 1 


Some days later the young lady discovered the iden- 
tity of her rescuer, and an acquaintance followed. 

The heroine of the adventure I have narrated I shall 
call Angela Trueheart. She was an orphan and the 
adopted daughter of a relative. She was beautiful and 
accomplished, and had many suitors for her hand. The 
natural result of an acquaintance, formed under the cir- 
cumstances described, followed; and seemingly the lov- 
ers were well matched as concerned good looks, intelli- 
gence, noble qualities, position in society, and all that 
would serve to constitute an eligible marriage. 

Upon the occasion of Charlie’s first confession, Angela 
earnestly inquired, 

“ Charlie, is there any reason why I should not become 
your wife ?” 

“No,” came the answer, promptly. 

She hesitated a moment, and then asked, 

“Charlie, do you drink ?” 

The young man colored slightly, but, without hesita- 
tion, replied, 

“No!” 

He did not mean to tell a lie; he did not consider that 
he was a drinking man; and, upon the instant, he had 
mentally resolved never to touch liquor again, and he 
considered the -resolution a ground for the truthfulness 
of his answer. 

“ You will excuse me, Charlie, for asking the ques- 
tion,” she said; “but I will make a confession. My 
father was a drinking man. He died a drunkard. For 
years he was what is called a moderate drinker. You 
know, Charlie, that in most cases the effects of drinking 
may for a long time be imperceptible; if one or two drinks, 
or even if one or two years, made a drunkard, men would 
awake to their danger; but often they discover it only 
when too late. It was so with my poor father. When 


42 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


he learned his danger, it was too late; he could not save 
himself, nor could friends save him. He died a drunkard. 
And my noble mother, after years of suffering, died of 
a broken heart. Charlie, did you ever drink ?” 

“ I have tasted liquor !” 

“ Do you crave it ?” 

“No.” 

“ If I promise to become your wife, will you make me 
a promise — a solemn promise ?” 

“I will!” 

“A sacred promise ?” 

“ I will promise in the presence of Heaven !” 

“You will never taste liquor again ?” 

“ I never will !” 

“ When I become your wife, I give up everything, for 
reasons I cannot explain to you now.” 

The young man laughed, and said, “Angela, if you 
have any fear that I will ever drink, my promise shall be 
transformed into a solemn oath.” 

“No, no, Charlie; I know I can accept your word. 
Your promise is sufficient; but, remember, it is to abide 
until death shall part us !” 

“ My darling, I swear !” 

At the time Charlie made the promise he was sincere. 
He believed he did not care for liquor. Alas ! like thou- 
sands, he did not know how occasional indulgence had un- 
dermined his power of will; what a hold thedemon had. 

A year was to pass ere they were to be married, and 
during that time Angela saw her lover as frequently as 
is usual under the circumstances, and never had she 
discerned a reason for doubting Charlie’s absolute ad- 
herence to his promise. But in the mean time Charlie 
had made a discovery he would not admit even to him- 
self ; and one of the reflex influences — deception — fol- 


ANOTHER PHASE OF MY REFLEX INFLUENCE. 43 


lowed. The gnawing appetite he had cultivated de- 
manded occasional gratification. He did not drink 
much, or often; and he had learned to conceal the fact 
that he ever tasted liquor. But he did; and the appetite 
was kept alive. 

The above was the condition of affairs when I became 
acquainted with my victim, and the narrative I have 
related thus far, I read from his own brain-record. 

I went with him to his home. I was with him when 
dressing for the ceremony, and I sat safely ensconced in 
his brain when he took something to prevent his breath 
from betraying my presence. I went to the wedding, 
and lay concealed behind the mask my victim had pro- 
vided; but I trembled when his lips were pressed to his 
bride’s pure brow. And oh ! what a terrible sight was 
the whole scene to me ! I could read the future : that 
poor bride could not. Beautiful she was, and pure and 
trusting. Yet all her beauty, all her purity, all her 
simple trust in her husband, were of no avail to make me 
relent, to divert me from my purpose. Pity for her who 
was to be his victim could not induce me to release 
mine. Reader, would that I could here draw the veil! 
But no: I have set out to write a full confession, and I 
must finish the narrative. 

I did not see Charlie Wholeheart for some time after 
his marriage, but I was not disturbed; I had seen what 
progress the habit had made with him, and I knew that 
in due time he would come back. He did, and in what 
a plight ! He had met with a business reverse, and in 
his desperation his weakness was developed. Under 
such circumstances the moderate drinkers are always 
overcome ; they may go on for years, but if reverses 
ever overtake them, moderation gives way to despera- 
tion, and desperation brings reckless indulgence. 


44 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


When Charlie came into the bar-room I saw there was 
fever in his blood and in his brain; the craving for liquor 
was unappeasable save with gratification. What he 
needed at that moment was rest and exercise; an oppor- 
tunity for his originally strong constitution to renew its 
strength; a legitimate calming-down of his nerves, until 
his disappointment had become less poignant, until the 
fever had subsided. But no; he was a slave. He came 
to me, and I was ready. T was anxious to go with him 
to his home and witness the result of the reflex influence 
upon the ill-fated wife. 

When Charlie left the saloon he was crazed with 
drink. Never before had he reached such a stage of 
delirium. He had passed the line of deceit, he was 
deserted by the spirit of caution; the time had arrived 
when the mask was to be torn aside, when a revelation 
that would break a loving heart was to be made. 

A friend — an obliging friend — was at hand to accom- 
pany Charlie home. I was a third member of the party. 
I did not show myself so as to be counted, but betrayed 
my presence by the manner in which I had put all 
the good qualities of my victim under subjection. He 
was no longer a man — I had transformed him into a 
beast. 

We reached his home. The door was flung open. An- 
gela was there, still beautiful. In her time had wrought 
no change. The friend led Charlie reeling into the 
room. I had held the door open for the pair. And 
what a revelation ! There was manhood gone; every- 
thing that was ennobling gone ! An animated mass 
of beastliness and idiocy fell at the feet of purity , refinement , 
and affection. 

It was a terrible sight. The possibility of one such 
scene should eternally condemn the use of intoxicating 
liquors. But, alas ! at the very moment the reader is 


ANOTHER PHASE OF MY REFLEX INFLUENCE. 45 

perusing these lines there are in progress thousands of 
just such terrible scenes. 

The wife uttered a cry. It seemed to me as though 
that cry would reverberate through the space of heaven 
and cause angels to stand aghast with horror! ay, that 
it would penetrate the regions of perdition and force 
even Satan to drop one tear of pity ! 

As the cry fell from the parted lips, the wife recoiled 
with starting eyes, and features convulsed with agony. 
The mask had indeed fallen ! And where was the 
promise — the sacred promise? It had been founded on 
a dream. It came of a resolution born in rottenness. As 
well might the worm crawling between the lips of a 
festering corpse promise life to the putrid mass from 
whence it crawls, as a victim of the Rum Demon when 
arrived at a certain stage of demoralization promise ab- 
stinence — the promise founded on his own strength. 
Whence can such strength come, when all the vitalities 
needed to nourish it are rotted out? Fragrance comes 
not from filth, nor strength from decay. 

Would that I could even here draw the curtain ! But 
no; it is not a romance I relate, but a living experience 
— a life-drama. The end was soon to come. 

A bottle from my barrel had been put away, that its 
contents might improve with age. As long as that one 
bottle remained unused, I was not released from my 
bondage. I will therefore anticipate my career in order 
to conclude this narrative. 

Ten years subsequent to the incidents I have recorded, 
a bloated, prematurely old man came staggering into 
the bar-room. There are thousands of such to be seen 
wherever rum is dispensed. I recognized this man at a 
glance. It was the wreck of Charlie Wholeheart ! And 
what a wreck it was ! What a miserable remnant of the 
youth whose wedding I had attended just twelve years 


4 6 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


previously ! After many years I was selected to finish 
the work. I found my victim physically and mentally 
ruined. At best he could have survived not more than 
a few months. He was capable of but momentary exhil- 
aration. Barely enough brain remained to give method 
to the madness of intoxication. 

He stayed some time in the place. It was night when 
he went forth. I accompanied him. I had read his 
purpose and was anxious to see the end. I had wit- 
nessed the progress of the drama, and wished to behold 
the* closing tragedy. He proceeded to the cemetery. It 
was a cold night, and the wind moaned mournfully 
through the trees. My victim walked along unmindful 
of the cold, regardless of the sad music and weird sur- 
roundings. He was not cold. No, no; his blood ran at 
fever heat; he had no ear for the sad murmuring wind. 
There was madness in his brain; and his bloodshot eyes 
sought but one object. He came to a halt beside a 
grave; a modest marble slab stood at its head on which 
was inscribed — 

Angela . 

Died . 

Aged 28 . 

I read the record and thought that there should have 
been added after the “ Died” — “ of a broken heart !” 
While on the way to the cemetery I learned from the 
man’s brain the incidents of the ten intervening years, 
the story of the sufferings of the beautiful girl whom I 
had seen standing before the marriage altar. She had 
drooped from the moment of the first revelation. A 
babe had come, but its life had been short. The mother 
lived on, a sad, broken-hearted woman. She did not die 
without a struggle. She had resorted to every expedi- 
ent to reform and save her husband, — had been faithful, 
enduring, and even uncomplaining, — when his habits re- 


ANOTHER PHASE OF MY REFLEX INFLUENCE. 47 

duced them from affluence to poverty. She resisted the 
persuasion of friends who sought to induce her to desert 
him. She fought on, hoping against hope, and only gave 
up the effort when her strength failed, when deprivation 
and long vigils undermined her constitution. It was 
then Death stepped in and ended the conflict. 

Reader, I have recorded a true story. I have but in- 
dicated the real horror. I have forborne to picture in 
detail hours, months, and years of heart-rending anguish. 
And yet the experience of Angela is but one of thou- 
sands. At this moment on every hand such experiences 
are in progress; and it seems almost incredible to state 
that the victims, not only have to carry on the fight un- 
aided, but have arrayed against them all the influences 
that should of right be employed for their assistance. 
Society coldly turns aside and lets the combat proceed. 
Not seldom even Christianity stands indifferent. The 
law is against the right. The Press is on the side of the devil. 
Vice is strengthened on every hand, and virtue finds its 
enemies in the houses of its friends. It is terrible to 
contemplate the influences arrayed against suffering 
wives , helpless children, and praying mothers in their con- 
flict against the prevailing vice. Where there should be 
succor and strength, there come indifference, subservi- 
ence to custom, open recognition, sarcasm, and hosts of 
selfish arguments conceived in hell and circulated by 
fools. Too many of the latter, alas ! the sly victims of 
secret indulgence in the allurements and palate-tick- 
lings of the destroyer ! If there is such a thing as con- 
tributory guilt (and there is), every living soul who lends 
countenance to the use of liquor as a beverage becomes, 
just to the amount of that influence, whether by direct 
contribution or through indifference, responsible for the 
thousands of murders committed under the reflex in- 
fluence of the Demon of Rum. 


48 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


But I must finish my tale ! The madman stood a 
moment, his gaze riveted upon the mound. What his 
thoughts were, I cannot tell. His brain was in a whirl. 
Suddenly he placed a pistol to his forehead, and, with 
the report of the weapon, I glided forth from the bleed- 
ing corpse. My work was done. 




A NARRATIVE ILLUSTRATING MY SUBTLE WORK 
BEHIND A MASKED BATTERY. 

HAD been busy several days, but had 
encountered no adventure worth record, 
ing until one Saturday afternoon when 
a victim came in whose case presented a 
fresh study. He was a very respectable- 
looking elderly gentleman. He was a 
stranger in the place, and as he advanced to the bar 
looked neither to the right nor left, nor did he exchange 
any of the usual “chaff” with the bartender. He mod- 
estly called for his whiskey, drank it, and departed. I 
accompanied him, and to my surprise discovered that 
this victim was a church deacon , and consequently I shall 
call him Deacon Moderate. He was a rich merchant, a 
very careful man who all his life had used liquor in 
moderation. 

Arrived at his home, I beheld every comfort. The 
Deacon thought liquor did not hurt him; he did not take 
enough. But here lay the mistake. Death was following 
close upon every glass, and in due time would assert 
itself although a mask should hide his secret even in 
3 



50 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


deatn. The physician would sign the death-certificate 
in due form, naming the cause of death, but not the cause 
of disease. 

My arrival at the Deacon’s home was at an opportune 
occasion. The Deacon’s wife had long had something 
on her mind, and improved the instance of my presence 
to open up the matter. 

“ James,” she said, “ you do not take as active a part in 
church meetings as you did formerly.” 

“No,” answered the Deacon; “I wish to leave the 
field to the younger members.” 

A shadow fell over the wife’s face as she said, “ I fear 
you are .becoming indifferent. I trust not; but it has 
struck me lately that there might be some reason for 
this coldness.” 

The wife had observed the Deacon’s growing weak- 
ness, but hardly dared to come right out and say so. 
He had always been a good husband, and had never 
done anything openly inconsistent with his standing as 
a church officer. She had made her first move, however, 
and let the matter drop for the time being with the re- 
mark, 

“ There is to be a meeting to-night of the young 
people; they have invited all the older members to join 
with them in a special subject for prayer. I cannot go; 
will you ?” 

“Certainly,” answered the Deacon; and at the usual 
hour he departed for the church. 

Indeed the meeting had been convened for the pur- 
pose of special prayer. Some of the more earnest young 
men who were witnesses of the ravages of the Demon of 
Rum had called the meeting for united supplication for 
Heaven’s assistance in the overthrow of the Church's 
greatest enemy. 

I studied the singular emotions that agitated the 


THE NARRATIVE OF DEACON MODERATE. 5 1 


Deacon’s heart when the special object of the meeting 
was announced. He was an officer of the Church, and 
supposed to be in full sympathy with all its holy and 
beneficent purposes. During the meeting it was clearly 
demonstrated by several speakers that Rum is not only 
the greatest enemy of the Church, but the deadliest foe of 
viankifid. Many harrowing incidents were related; many 
fervent prayers ascended, supplicating Deity to stay the 
march of the ruthless destroyer. 

During all this time the Deacon sat silent. And 
why ? / had put a seal upon his lips. He could not ask 

God to grant the prayers that were offered up while he 
was a member of the enemy’s grand reserve force of 
Moderates. He was a traitor to the cause in which he had 
enlisted, because he professed to serve the Lord and was 
secretly in the service of the Devil. He did not listen 
with feelings of humility; he grew angry and tried to 
feel that the petitioners were meddling with what did not 
concern them. He tried to think that Religion was one 
thing and Freedom of Conscience another. Mark the 
inconsistency in face of the fact that the whole army of 
rum-sellers send forth yells of defiance against the Church, 
assail it with sneers and smiles of derision, mock at its 
teachings and hurl anathemas upon its work. They pro- 
claim the Church their bitterest antagonist; so, per contra, 
Rum must be the Church’s worst foe. There is no dis- 
guising this fact, and there is no attempt to disguise it 
as far as the Rum-legions are concerned; but, alas! al- 
though the Church rules against the grog-shops, too many 
of its members are under their evil influence, and because 
of these few the earnest members are not permitted to 
array the Church as a foe in that pronounced manner to 
make its work as crushing as it would be otherwise. 
Such men as Deacon Moderate give the Devil a foothold 
even in the sanctuary of Religion. 


52 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


The Deacon sat through the meeting, and felt called 
upon to pronounce the usual responses; and when the 
gathering adjourned he laid another sin on his soul — an- 
other evidence of my reflex influence. While conversing 
with a fellow-deacon, he dared, in order to cover his 
secret sin, to offer a pretended sympathy with the object 
of the service. 

It was revealed during the meeting that a request had 
been made of the pastor of the church to make Total 
Abstinence the subject of his discourse on the following 
Sabbath. 

Deacon Moderate went home. The lights in his house 
had been extinguished. Darkness prevailed. He retired, 
but could not sleep; the words he had heard worried 
him. The sense of religious duty was not altogether 
overcome. The Spirit was still striving — the good 
Spirit. Visions passed before his wakeful eyes, and 
memories were stirred up which brought sadness to his 
heart. He remembered a dearly-loved daughter who 
had died triumphant in the full faith. There came to 
him also the remembrance of a noble son who had been 
cut off at the threshold of manhood — a soldier of the 
Cross, as well as a soldier of the government for which 
he died. 

The good angel lingered long and strove earnestly. 
The Deacon’s better nature was brought to the front; he 
discerned that he was wrong. He saw that he was de- 
barred by his secret habit from the fulfilment of his 
duty — he did not wear the full armor! Tears moistened 
his eyes, an involuntary prayer was breathed, and he 
dropped asleep. 

Upon the following day he went to another church. 
It was the merest accident. He had previously promised 
a friend to go and hear a certain clergyman preach. I 


THE NARRATIVE OF DEACON MODERATE. 53 


accompanied him, and during the preliminary service I 
came forth and, while perched on the Deacon's head , took a 
survey of the congregation. I could pick out the indi- 
viduals who were ranged on my side, and was surprised 
to find so many of them. Later on the mystery was ex- 
plained. 

The clergyman delivered his text. He was an able 
man; but judge of my amazement when I read in his 
eyes that he was Pastor Moderate — wdien I discerned 
that this captain in the Lord’s army was also an officer 
in the Devil’s reserve, and that the same lips which 
poured forth wisdom freely secretly drank in whiskey 
moderately. His text was those splendid words so often 
tortured and spread out to cover the use of liquor. 

I will not attempt to reproduce the sermon in detail; 
but I will here state as a fact that this sermon was after- 
wards printed by an association of liquor dealers, and 
circulated as a tract in favor of rum and in opposition 
to those issued by the enemies of the traffic. What a 
use for a sermon ! And what a rebuke to its author 
when it is known that rum-sellers claim it in support of 
what is termed their “ strongest hold ” ! 

During the course of the sermon the clergyman spoke 
of the necessity for moderation in all things — eating, 
enjoyments of every sort, and all manner of indulgences. 
He handled the text skilfully, and most of his positions 
were well taken, for moderation is an excellent thing, as 
the writer of the words intended it to be understood; 
and that is, moderatio?i in all things that are lawf ul. He 
never intended it as a permission for even moderate indul- 
gence in those things that are pernicious — indulgences 
which he so earnestly denounced in all his other ad- 
monitions. It is but the spirit of wilful malignity that 
would distort the text into a license ! 


54 


THE CONSESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


Having illustrated the text in all its bearings, the 
clergyman touched directly upon the use of liquor, and 
dared to publicly give countenance to moderate indul- 
gence. In the course of his remarks he said, “ Should I 
ever discover that it or any other habit were making me 
its slave, I would free myself at once from its control, 
and if necessary eschew its indulgence absolutely.” 

I listened and laughed, for while he spoke I beheld a 
startling picture. Figuratively a serpent crawled forth 
from under the pulpit desk; slowly it wound its slimy 
folds around the man who would free himself when he 
discovered any habit was enslaving him. The serpent 
coiled and coiled, until its victim was encircled in such 
a manner that he could move neither hand nor foot — 
not a finger, hardly a muscle. And as I gazed I re- 
called his words. It was at such a moment he would 
discover his peril and resolve to free himself, and would 
be powerless ! And so it is with my poor victims. They 
discover their danger when it is too late j when the very 
forces they need for my extirpation have been under- 
mined and destroyed. When the discovery is made, my 
work is too far advanced; they are in the folds of the 
deadly serpent. Their efforts to tear off his coils, if they 
depend solely upon their own strength, end in the un- 
kept resolutions with which Hell is paved ! 

But observe the effect of this sermon upon Deacon 
Moderate. It resulted in speedily dispelling all of his 
good resolutions. The memory of son and daughter 
was shadowed over by the reawakened and licensed desire. 
He had what he most wanted — an excuse for his vice j and 
he received it from a quarter whence it should never 
have come. Just one word ! It is not necessary for 
me to proclaim the evil rum accomplishes. I will only 
say that if it can destroy one life — bring desolation 
to one household — snatch one soul from heaven and dash it 


THE NARRATIVE OF DEACON MODERATE. 55 


down to perdition — it should be denounced by every man who 
believes in purity and virtue , who believes in God, a Saviour 
and heaven, a spirit of evil, and punishment for sin. 

But to conclude. The Spirit still strove with the 
Deacon, but its work was of no avail. Rum’s victim 
yielded to his weakness; he fell away from the extended 
arms of a Saviour, possibly to be grasped in the hands of 
a living God. 




A SAD NARRATIVE; OR, HOW A BRIGHT YOUTH 
TOUCHED, TASTED, AND FELL. 

WAS down in my bottle. Business had 
been dull; there was nothing that par- 
ticularly interested me. There was a 
party of old-time topers in the place; 
they were drinkers on principle; most 
of them fully aware that they were 
throwing away health and life, but they did not care; 
they preferred the false pleasures of the cup in accord- 
ance with the pernicious Falstaffian doctrine of enjoy- 
ing life by the way. They were selfish, cold-blooded 
rum-drinkers, who, without the inspiration of the Demon, 
were incapable of a thought beyond themselves and 
their own appetites. There are plenty of this class; 
they come to me naturally ; I do not have to seek them. 

Later on I was induced to come up to my cork. A 
party of young men entered, a gay, careless group, sev- 
eral of whom gloried in being “full of the devil.” 
There was one among them, however, of a different 
type, a youth who, I saw at a glance, was naturally gen- 
tle and noble. He did not drink whiskey, only lemonade, 
and pleasantly endured the gibes and jeers of his com- 
panions. I hoped that he would hold to his resolution. 
I did not desire to be put to the service of destroying 


1 

m 

I 

it 

1 SL 



HOW A BRIGHT YOUTH FELL. 


57 


him; but he was within the Devil's portals , and consequently 
in danger. It were better had he left his companions at 
the door. Going into a Devil’s den even to drink lem- 
onade is a perilous practice. As there is death in the 
air where miasma arises, so there is temptation when 
one permits himself to enter a bar-room. 

The young man did not drink that day. I hoped he 
was saved; but a few days later he returned, and to my 
horror I saw that he permitted what is called a “stick,” 
in the shape of a little port-wine, to be put in his lemon- 
ade. I could see later on, after he had drunk several 
lemonades with “sticks” in them, that he yielded to 
the exhilaration — a pleasant sensation to a novice, I 
admit. 

The young man became a more frequent visitor. He 
was employed in a large mercantile house near by, and 
the young men who accompanied him were fellow-clerks. 
A month passed, and I observed that he came to like the 
“stick” in his lemonade. I could see that the work of 
demoralization had commenced. The little inflamma- 
tions of the various organs were betrayed one day by a 
request that a “ big stick” be put in his drink. Almost 
imperceptibly the appetite was growing. Another 
month passed, and I perceived that it would not be long 
before I should be called into service. The desire ap- 
peared to grow fast with this particular youth. It does 
with too many. I once knew a young man who at the 
end of six months from the time of taking his first drink 
became a confirmed drunkard. These cases are rare, 
but they do occur. 

One day the youth of whom I write came in and re- 
marked that he did not feel well. “ I can fix you!” said 
the bartender. My bottle was taken down from the 
shelf, and the bartender made a palatable concoction, 
whiskey being the principal ingredient. The youth was 


58 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


aware of the character of what was being prepared, but 
his moral courage had been weakened. He had not the 
power of will he had possessed a few months previously. 
He drank the preparation, smacked his lips after I 
glided between them, and immediately announced that 
he felt better. 

I went with this poor boy to his home. His father 
was a worthy mechanic, a Christian man who had sought 
to bring up his son in the way he should go; but, alas! 
a father’s precepts and example are not proof against the 
assaults of the Devil, when on every hand his reflex in- 
fluence pervades, and other examples are presented where 
they should not prevail. 

The youth sought to conceal from his parents the fact 
that he had drunk liquor. He knew how they abhorred 
its use, and how little they dreamed that their dear boy 
would ever come under its influence. Let me here say, 
that if a united church, if society, if all professing 
Christians, and if the law took the proper stand as con- 
cerns rum, such sons could not come under its influence. 
But when the law is subservient to the rum power, when 
society countenances the use of wine, when professing 
Christian employers drink moderately, all the proper 
safeguards are removed, the Devil has a clear field, and 
the home influence for good is overshadowed and over- 
borne. 

The young man really felt that he had done wrong, 
but he excused himself on the plea that he had not asked 
for it ; that he took it merely as a medicine. Home influ- 
ence was making its last struggle. 

Upon the following day the youth did not take any- 
thing; but a few days later returned to his lemonade 
with a “stick” in it. At length one day he imagined he 
felt poorly again. He merely mentioned the fact, and 
the ever-ready bartender proposed to mix him another 


HOW A BRIGHT YOUTH FELL . 


59 


preparation as a remedy. Conscience made an effort, 
but a faltering “yes” fell from his lips. Had he then 
said “ no,” the good influence might have won the vic- 
tory; but that “yes” was the surrender of a strong cita- 
del, and prepared the way for many surrenders. 

Right here I will once more make an explanation. It 
may appear strange that a criminal should make the 
moral comments that attend this confession; but again 
I emphatically declare that I was sold into the service 
of the Devil. I never liked the work, no more than any 
other slave who is compelled to toil at the absolute will 
of another. I hated my master as any ill-treated slave 
hates a master. I hated the work, but it was my des- 
tiny to do it none the less effectively. I could not abate 
the evil any more than can the victim of contagious dis- 
ease restrict and abate the infection that exhales to the 
destruction of those he most loves. 

But to proceed with my narrative. The demoraliza- 
tion of the youth continued. His appetite increased 
day by day, and one afternoon, in company with a num- 
ber of companions, he called for a “whiskey straight.” 
He deceived himself with the impression that it was 
merely an act of bravado; bid bravado was the mask , and 
desire the incentive. He went home that evening late. 
And now observe where I imposed another sin. He had 
returned late several evenings, and upon the one when 
the “whiskey straight” was the cause of detention his 
father asked what had detained him. Unblushingly the 
lad answered that he had remained at the store. The 
father, relying upon his own teachings and example, 
could not suspect his boy of telling a lie; and the suc- 
cess in deceiving the parent aided the Demon of Rum, 
as the youth presumed upon this first successful lie to 
remain later a few days subsequently, and upon this lat- 
ter occasion he drank two “ whiskey straights.” A new 


6o THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMF. 

sensation was thrilling him; he began to feel himself 
quite a man, and did not realize that instead he was de- 
stroying his chances of ever becoming one , and upon this af- 
ternoon he laid the train for a new crime. He did not 
have money with him to pay for the liquor he drank, 
but ran in debt. He treated his companions several 
times, and the bartender was glad to trust him until 
Saturday. 

On the Friday afternoon following, he became very 
anxious and uncomfortable. The bill he owed at the 
bar weighed upon his mind. He calculated his resources, 
and discovered that when he paid the whiskey bill his 
usual allowance would be exceeded by quite a sum. His 
father was a poor man. The Monday following was rent- 
day, and the boy knew that his parent was in the habit 
of putting aside his wages against the rent. What ex- 
planation could he make to his father for the deficiency? 
He became nervous and worried, and at noon for the first 
time went alone to the bar-room. 

Before going to the bar a suggestion had presented 
itself; but no, his whole moral nature protested against 
it. When he returned with the whiskey in his brain the 
temptation had a powerful ally. 

In the house where he was employed he had charge of 
a petty cash account. He could readily draw against his 
following week’s salary, and by not spending anything 
in the interval would be able to make good what he had 
borrowed. Here let me say that money borrowed with- 
out the consent of the lender is stolen every time , and al- 
though it may be repaid, the borrower is morally as 
guilty as he who actually steals and refunds through com- 
pulsion. 

The temptation returned to the youth; he worried and 
fretted so that when night came he was in a very nervous 
condition; and his nervousness increased until it required 


HOW A BRIGHT YOUTH FELL. 


6 


several drinks to quiet him, and thereby his debt to the 
bartender was increased. 

When he appeared at the store next day and looked over 
his accounts he was appalled. The usual result followed. 
He went out and “ braced up.” I was doing my work 
well: it was a part of my business. When night came, 
under my influence, the young man had reached the “ Oh, 
pshaw! it’s all right!” condition. He took the money 
from his cash account, settled his bill, and paid his father 
his usual allowance. All that night, however, he suffered. 
He could not sleep, but tossed restlessly in his bed, and 
morning found him depressed and uncomfortable. All 
day that Sunday he was unhappy, but when night came 
he made a resolve — he contributed his first resolution for 
Hell’s pavement by a determination never to drink an- 
other drop; and the resolve brought peace to his mind 
and sleep to his eyelids. 

On Monday he appeared at the store, bright and cheer- 
ful, and remained so all day. When evening came, his 
companions prepared to visit the bar-room. The youth, 
whom we shall call “ Henry,” protested that he would go 
home. It took but little persuasion to induce him to stop 
just for a few moments to see the fun. The wily bar- 
tender received him with flattering attention. He was 
within the charmed circle, and before he knew it had 
ordered “a round” which was “slated” without a word. 

When Henry started for home, the feeling of depres- 
sion had returned. I will not continue the details of my 
subtle approaches, my undermining processes worked on 
the plan of allurement. Suffice it to say that when the 
following Friday arrived, Henry, instead of having saved 
the stolen amount, was deeper in debt, and consequently 
required a stronger “ bracing up” to enable him to re- 
peat the experiment of the previous week. Such are the 
usual results; and were the accounts of such transactions 


62 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


recorded, it would stand: Returned, farthings: Unreturned 
and Stolen, millions of dollars. It is safe to say that not 
one in a thousand of such accounts is ever balanced by 
the return of what may be borrowed under such circum- 
stances. 

Henry did not, in one sense, suffer quite as keenly the 
second week as he did the first. He suffered, but his 
suffering came from fear, not from a sense of having done 
a wrong. His conscience was quieted; his fears increased 
and his nervousness was not abated. 

A month passed, and he was far behind in his accounts. 
He had not made good one cent of the borrowed money, 
but had nerved himself by too frequent visits to the bar- 
room. The moral aspect of the case had entirely ceased 
to present itself; it had become a question of physical 
safety. He was already practically a criminal, and like 
all criminals was driven to devices for defence. 

He entered the bar-room one afternoon where some 
men whose acquaintance he had made there were gam- 
blingwith dice. One reckless youth won several dollars. 
Henry’s eyes bulged with envy. The successful gambler 
had won enough to settle Henry’s accounts. A fresh 
temptation was presented. He beheld a possible method 
for getting out of his difficulty. As a winner he could 
straighten his accounts, and then forswear ever taking 
another shilling that did not belong to him. The idea 
haunted his mind; and, ensconced in his brain that night, 
I roamed around the central figure in his dreams, where- 
in he saw himself a winner, and in his sleep he chuckled 
with delight; but when he awoke in the morning and 
found it but a dream, the shadow again fell over his 
face — he was still a defaulter. 

Henry appeared at the store at the usual hour, and 
when an opportunity offered, slipped out to obtain a 
drink. The dice-party had reassembled. The youth 


HOW A BRIGHT YOUTH FELL. 


63 


accepted an invitation to throw “just once.” He won. 
Well, the devil always lets his doomed victim win at 
first. He appears to have unseen little imps at his com- 
mand who fumble the dice and stock the cards. Having 
quit the game a few dollars ahead, Henry was informed 
that as winner he must “ set ’em up.” Observe how he 
had run into a new path of temptation. I had “set ’em 
up” by creating a new and fascinating necessity for more 
drink. Indeed, when once the demoralization sets in, 
every influence is directed in my favor; every breeze 
that fills the sail of a drifting human soul but drives it 
onward toward perdition. When Henry returned to the 
store he had but little of his winnings left. 

Another month passed, and the processes I have de- 
scribed above were continued. At the end of the second 
month my victim was deeper in debt than ever; he had 
gambled again and been a loser, and was driven almost 
to madness by fear. Something must be done ! He had 
visited a faro-room, and had lost. He was told that he 
was sure to beat the game in the end if he only stayed in 
long enough. The tempter was luring him on. Drink 
had led him to the first false step , and was steadily oiling the 
path down which he was gliding. 

One afternoon there was to be a half-holiday. He 
“forgot” to place a considerable sum of money in the 
safe. He accidentally had it with him when he entered 
a faro-room. He played, and quitted the place penniless 
and partly intoxicated. Home influence, though sadly 
weakened, still faintly asserted itself. He walked the 
streets until all outward appearance of drunkenness had 
disappeared. When he returned home his father met 
him at the door. The latter’s face was pale, betraying 
the fact that a terrible suspicion had been aroused in his 
mind. He called his son into the sitting-room and 
questioned him closely. Henry managed seemingly to 


6 4 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


satisfy his father and allay his fears. He went to his 
room, but could not sleep, and after half an hour, urged 
by a burning thirst, started to go to the kitchen for a 
drink of water. As he passed his father’s room door he 
thought he heard a voice. He stopped and listened. 
Yes, he did hear a voice, and its tones penetrated to his 
inmost soul. The father was praying for his son, asking 
God to save him if he was being led into temptation; and 
as he prayed, sobs of anguish, born of fear, interrupted 
the petition. Henry loved his parents, and he was heart- 
broken. But what could he do ? In the face of frequent 
warnings he had crossed the threshold of a devil’s palace, 
and once within the influence had been lured on and on 
until he had reached a point whence unaided he could ?iot 
return. 

The following morning the young man started for the 
store. At the corner he met one of the porters. 

“Oh, Harry,” said the latter excitedly, “don’t go to 
the office !” 

“What is the matter?” came the inquiry. 

“Something is up!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Poor boy! I am sorry for you. How could you do 
it ? You’re the last one I’d have suspected !” 

“ Tell me what you mean !” demanded Harry. 

“Yesterday afternoon the firm made an examination 
of the books. They have found something wrong in your 
accounts . I would advise you to go and tell your father, 
and bring some one to go your bail. I heard them talk 
of an arrest.” 

Henry’s blood turned to ice. He walked away, and a 
few moments later a haggard, terror-stricken youth en- 
tered a bar-room and called for whiskey. He poured 
out a quantity that caused the bartender to remark 
derisively, “ We don’t wholesale whiskey here !” He 


HOW A BRIGHT YOUTH FELL. 


65 


paid no heed, but drank off the liquor and went out. 
Soon he appeared in another place and drank again; and 
so he wandered around from place to place until delirium 
had deadened all sense of terror; then he started for his 
home. In the car he fell asleep, and rode to the end of 
the route; when aroused and ejected, he wandered 
around aimlessly, but as the fever subsided his courage 
failed. Desperation set in. He strolled into-the park; 
a few moments later a policeman passing a clump of 
bushes heard a pistol-shot. He ran to the spot, and 
found a well-dressed youth lying in the agonies of 
death. The suicide did not speak, and after a few mo- 
ments he was dead. I did not see what followed. My 
work was done. 

My readers can picture the agony of the father, the 
wail of the mother, when the dead son was brought in and 
laid at their feet. I will ask permission, however, to say 
one word. The father the previous night had asked the 
Lord to save his son. I make no comment. I merely 
propound this question: Did the Lord heed the prayer ? 
Did He permit the tragedy to follow, that no more sin 
might be heaped upon that soul? And did He, in the 
last moments, when the Demon’s work was completed, 
hear what no mortal ear heard — a last wail for mercy 
from an awakened spirit ? 




I FIND A SHINING MARK. A NARRATIVE EMBODY-. 

ING A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 

HAVE a relative in Jersey known as Jer- 
sey Lightning. I recall the relationship 
because of the appellation, it is so ap- 
propriate; I know of no better; the sim- 
ilitude between the Demon of Rum and 
lightning is very striking, as both are 
always sure to strike somewhere. The former some- 
times passes over a generation, in rare cases two; but in 
the end he strikes. The poisonous germ must ripen, 
burst, and exude its death-dealing properties. 

I was waiting for a victim, and as usual he came. I 
had a shining mark at last. A man possessed of a noble 
face and bearing, entered the bar-room and called for 
whiskey. To a mere casual observer he would not have 
betrayed the fact that he was a victim of rum; but I could 
see that he was an illustration of a peculiar phase of 
its power. Once within his system, I commenced my 
usual examination, and discovered that the undermin- 
ing process was directed in this case more powerfully 
against the mental faculties than against the phy- 
sical organization. With this man the disease was 
in the brain and not in the kidneys. I read him 



A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 


67 


through and through — and what a noble specimen of 
manhood he would have been, had it not been for the 
fatal enchantment ! He was naturally generous, be- 
nevolent, and considerate, and the possessor of greater 
mental power than any victim it had hitherto been my 
bad fortune to destroy. He was not gifted in only one 
direction; his gifts were various. He could have suc- 
ceeded as a lawyer, a clergyman, or in any sphere he had 
elected to enter. He was an editor, a profession that 
requires greater general mental gifts than any other. 
There is no class of men who wield the power for good 
or evil to a greater extent; and it is a remarkable fact 
that the printing-press and newspapers began just at that 
period in history when the reign of the people com- 
menced and the absolute power of kings and emperors 
and feudal barons declined. Without the aid of the 
press the masses would have fallen back under the heel 
of imperialism. Such being the fact, there is no class of 
men in the community who face greater responsibilities. 
The power of the editor of a great journal in forming 
the opinions of the people is imperial; it should be 
wielded in leading the masses forward to what is 
brightest and best; his influence should always be cast 
against any evil that threatens the peace, comfort, and 
virtue of the people. Newspapers have a perfect right 
to their several particular political ideas, and are excus- 
able if in a spirit of partisanship they go beyond the 
bounds of political conservatism; but outside of their 
political bias they should be one in sentiment in array- 
ing themselves on the highest level in aid and defence of 
an advanced civilization. Therefore it is a surprise to me 
that nine-tenths of the journals of the United States are 
practically ranged on the side of the Demon of Rum, 
and in the face of the fact that there is no genuine excuse 
for such support, as in no way are they under obliga- 


68 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


tions to the traffic in intoxicants. But what are the facts ? 
The press hurls its ridicule upon every effort organized 
for assault against the great evil; and so potent is the 
power of ridicule that judges shrink from the perform- 
ance of their duty, and upon the most frivolous pretext 
perpetrate flagrant wrongs against right and justice. 
“Temperance fanatics” is the favorite appellation of the 
press for those who make war on this traffic; and while 
their columns teem with horrors, the product of intemper- 
ance, they also teem with sneers at every effort made for 
its suppression. Why is this so ? Is it because the news- 
paper establishments, from editors down to reporters, 
furnish so many victims ? Or is it, as has been suggested, 
that if the traffic were suppressed one half of the news 
items would be ejected from the realm of reportorial 
research ? I do not assume that this is true; but it is a 
fact that were the liquor traffic suppressed the daily ac- 
counts of murders, arsons, riots, and suicides would 
cease to a large extent, and editors and reporters would 
be compelled to fall back largely upon their imaginations 
for subjects of startling interest. If the press took the 
proper stand, the snivelling countenance given to the rum 
evil by other favoring influences would amount to 
naught — the press could kill the liquor traffic or drive it 
into limits that would cause it to die a natural death, 
and thus perform one of the grandest benefits humanity 
has ever received since the birth at Bethlehem. What 
is most remarkable in the attitude of the press is the 
fact that, as a rule, editors are the most intelligent and 
practical of men as concerns other questions of public 
interest, and are ever ready to assail any other public 
evil, while bowing in abject subserviency to Rum. Again 
let me declare that when the press arrays itself on the 
side of the liquor interest, it stands committed to sym- 
pathy with the least intelligent and most selfish class in 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 


69 


the community — a class that would subject every other 
interest to their business; a class that has no sentiment, 
political or patriotic, which does not conserve the interests 
of their own trade. The attitude of the press, on the 
other hand, is against every heroic wife who is seeking 
to save a husband from ruin; against every parent seek- 
ing to save a child; every sister, to save a brother; every 
friend, to save a friend; against every poor miserable 
wretch that is sliding down to mental and physical ruin. 
Mark the inconsistency! The press hurls its anathemas 
against brothels, when without the inspiration of rum 
none would exist. It hurls its anathemas against opium- 
dens, gambling-saloons, and a hundred other evils that 
are practically but the outgrowth of the one great evil — 
the evil which is the cause of two thirds of all the 
misery and wickedness in the world — the evil of intem- 
perance. 

But I am forgetting my story. As I have said, save 
his one weakness, my victim was a glorious fellow; but 
alas ! rum was his master. Here was a man, chief edi- 
tor of one of the most powerful journals in the world, an 
intellectual autocrat, whose responsibilities as the formu- 
lator of opinion were imperial — a man whose pen could 
do more for good in one sentence than could the pen of 
a Vanderbilt signed to a check for thousands for the 
same object — a man who controlled the opinions of thou- 
sands — himself a slave ! He had a powerful physical or- 
ganization; he could be “full” and no one would know 
it. So well did he carry his “temperature” that not 
even his most intimate friends were aware how strong 
was his appetite, and to what excess he secretly in- 
dulged. 

The phases of the influence of Rum are multitudinous; 
they can be masked for a time in a thousand ways; but 
as I stated at the opening of this narrative, they must 


70 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


strike somewhere, and too often fall upon the most inno- 
cent of the victims. 

I will here ask, What can the ablest advocate of liquor 
say in its favor? Can any man point to an instance 
where it did any good save as a medicine, or when in the 
world’s history it ever inspired a noble deed ? By it the 
advance of civilization has been retarded. It has been 
a curse from the time the sons of Noah covered their 
father’s nakedness until now; from the time when Alex- 
ander slew his friend Clitus in a drunken frenzy to the 
brothel-murder of yesterday ! It was Rum that inspired 
Nero to burn Rome. It was Rum, if the record of their 
careers be true, that urged on Caligula and Caracalla to 
deeds of blood and wantonness. Drunken husbands 
have beaten and murdered their wives. Frenzied sons 
have beaten and murdered their mothers. Rum-crazed 
men have shot down and stabbed their best friends. 
Besotted mothers have rolled upon and crushed to death 
their own offspring. Clergymen have fallen under its 
influence, and Potter’s Field has covered them. It has 
led senators to the almshouse to die, and once famous 
statesmen have crawled off to remote corners to perish 
in rottenness ! It has invaded the courts of justice, and 
judges have been dragged from the ermine to tatters and 
filth. Professors have gone down under the curse. 
Nowhere does it enter where destruction does not fob 
low. Crazed by Rum, the incendiary applies the torch. 
Murderers nerve themselves with it for deeds of blood, 
and burglars “brace up” with it when starting upon 
their depredations. It has caused crews to mutiny on 
ships in mid-ocean. Gallant soldiers under its influence 
have become assassins, ravishers of innocence, and pilla- 
gers. Turn in every direction and its ravages greet your 
eye ! Jails, lunatic asylums, and almshouses extend 
their roll-lists of victims. And every river flowing by a 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 


71 


great city daily casts up the ghastly corpse of some poor 
slave of the dreadful appetite. It is the father of crip- 
ples and the mother of disease. From the courts of 
kings to the cabins of peasants it has rolled along its 
bloody track, crushing victims as it rolled, and leaving 
trails of horror and misery on every hand. And this is 
the evil the press countenances ! And the men who 
would destroy this hydra-headed monster are called 
“cranks;” and when they appear as prosecutors before 
some petty judge, they are ridiculed and mocked ! All 
the world cries reason and moderation when there is no 
“ reason and moderation” in the use of liquor. Every 
gale that blows from north, east, west, or south brings 
to our ears records of horror and the groans and shrieks 
of thousands of victims to whom “ reason and moderation 
was but a mockery and a snare. 

The editor, my victim, was blind to his own danger. 
I went with him from the bar-room to the sanctum. I 
looked through his eyes upon the page where he wrote 
a scathing article against a prohibition law at that time 
before the legislature. Yes, prohibition ! this is the 
scheme that causes the indignant blood of personal- 
liberty lovers to boil. And yet they hide their eyes to 
the fact that a million graves have been made within a 
decade whose occupants, if permitted to come forth, 
would range themselves under a banner inscribed with 
this legend: u Prohibition would have saved us /” An awe- 
inspiring procession it would be ! The murderer and 
murdered would walk arm in arm. Gamblers and sui- 
cideSj a host of victims, would swell the ranks, and the 
rear-guard would be made up of children of different 
ages; those who had been starved, beaten, and crushed 
to death; those who had been born to die of loathsome 
diseases. Well might they cry, “ Prohibition would have 
saved us all !'* 


72 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


I made the acquaintance of my victim, the editor, at a 
good time. He was on the verge of delirium; he had 
indulged until his veins were bursting in the struggle 
between rum and blood for free course; and in his fev- 
ered madness he drank again and again, even after his 
ndignant stomach struggled against the poison. 

I stuck to him. I had become inured to tragedies, 
and I desired to see the downfall of a noble intellect and 
the blasting of a great career. 

It was midnight when he entered his room to work. 
He could not sleep: his nerves were unstrung; he must 
work. Madness was in his brain, delirium in his eye. 
He sat down to his desk, closed his eyes, and pressed his 
hand against his throbbing brow. Then he essayed to 
write. His hand was extended armed with the pen, 
when suddenly, with a shriek of horror, he sprang to his 
feet, and staggered back with starting eyes ! The clotted 
brain had lost its balance; imagination, its helm. Poison 
rioted in his eyes as on his desk he beheld a million 
wriggling snakes! To him, poor soul, they were real; 
the reason of moderation had deserted him when he most 
needed its controlling and regulating influence. 

He ran wildly from the room, started to descend the 
stairs, but in his terror lost his calculation, and made a 
false step. Down he pitched head first to the landing 
below, and struck his temple against a projecting corner. 
There he lay; there came a few gasps, and the snakes 
were gone — he was dead ! 

Well, the body was found. The verdict was accidental 
death, apoplexy or an attack of vertigo ! Such was the 
explanation. It might have been either, to serve as a 
mask for the true cause. 

It was pitiful to read the obituaries. “Cut down in 
the prime of life, in the full vigor of physical and intel- 
lectual strength !” I laugh. All these the man had 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 


7 3 


sacrificed. His talents had been largely used in defeat- 
ing the very measures that would have saved his own 
life, that would have saved the thousands who have 
died since from the same cause, and those who at this 
very moment are under the shadow of a similar fate. 




I TRIUMPH OVER THE LAW, MAKE A MOCKERY 
OF A STATUTE, AND A FARCE OF JUSTICE. 

HE owner of the bar-room in which I was 
dispensed was an excellent representa- 
tive of his class; in ordinary affairs an 
honorable man, punctilious in the pay- 
ment of his debts, and, singularly enough, 
a man who did not himself use the poison 
he sold to others. He was a good father, was proud of 
his family, and provided them with every comfort. 

I remember one day when he brought to the saloon 
two handsome boys who were introduced as his sons; 
fairer children I never saw. The visit to the bar-room 
was a novelty to them, and they romped and played with 
childish innocence and freedom, the admiration of all 
who saw them, including their father, in whose eye I 
saw the gleam of fondness and pride. In the afternoon 
the mother called for the boys and took them home with 
her. She was a woman of great beauty, and, like her 
children, appeared innocent and loving. But what fol- 
lowed ? 

I have several times intimated to my readers that I 
was bottled and held for a number of years to improve 
by age. It did soften me to the taste, but venerability 
did not lessen my vigor. I was thus preserved, however. 



HOW I TRIUMPHED OVER THE LAW, 7$ 

in bondage to witness the events that followed, and 
among the foreshadowings that I later on saw develop 
into accomplished facts was the after-fate of the two 
beautiful children and their lovely mother. I relate a 
true tale. I set naught down in malice, nor do I make a 
record for effect. It is not necessary, in reciting the his- 
tory of the work of the Demon of Rum, to fall back upon 
the imagination for the manufacture of horrors; they lie 
in the Devil’s track on every hand. 

The two sons became drunkards and died of a loath- 
some disease. The father dodged the penalty of his business 
and it fell upon the two innocent children. The mother 
also became a drunkard, and the man who had aided in 
sending so many poor women to the almshouse was 
compelled in after-years to send his own wife to an asy- 
lum. Yes, he escaped the penalty, but saw his two boys 
rot to death before his eyes, their very beauty of person 
aiding in inviting the allurements that resulted in their 
destruction. 

The owner of the bar was an avaricious man and 
opened his place on Sundays in defiance of the law. I 
use the word defiance , but, after all, the law is, in effect, 
but a dead letter. 

The fact that bar-rooms do such a large business when 
an entrance to them is difficult is another testimony to 
the readiness of the Devil to favor the weak side of hu- 
manity, An unenforced law against the liquor traffic is 
but a device in his favor. He cultivates that spirit of 
egotism which leads men to rush into bar-rooms that 
pretend to be closed. The very fact of being admitted al- 
lures them with the idea that their admission is a recog- 
nition of their importance; it classes them as “ thorough- 
breds” who will give “nothing away,” and makes them 
feel that they belong to the favored few, the “ recog- 
nized;” a feeling akin to that which makes .men value 


;6 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


so highly a complimentary ticket to a place of amuse- 
ment, — they enjoy the distinction, as does the owner of 
the place enjoy bestowing it, because it wooes “shekels” 
to his “ till.” 

One day my dispenser was arrested; the owner of the 
place was not present, and the bartender was “taken in” 
as a violator of the law, and at once there followed the 
usual unseemly exhibition. The man became a hero; bail 
was furnished at once, and when he was released sympa- 
thizing friends surrounded him. The usual hue and cry 
arose about the invasion of personal rights; the law was 
denounced equally with the meddlesome tyranny of 
Sabbatarians. Even the judge expressed his sympathy 
and acted as though he felt ashamed to enforce the re- 
quirement of bail, and did so simply because it was the 
law; while he smiled benignantly on the prisoner, he 
frowned upon the accuser and treated him with formal 
and frigid politeness. 

A few days later, the trial for the violation of the law 
took place. I was in court. The bartender was com- 
pelled to “brace up” for the ordeal — that is how I got 
there and became an observer of the proceedings. Well, 
the Devil had his agent in the chair. The judge’s face 
told how rum rioted in his veins, as the excess of the 
poison bloomed in disgusting blotches on his cheek. 

The accuser was an elderly man possessed of a benev- 
olent countenance, on which was impressed an expres- 
sion of courage and determination; a large amount of 
both qualities was needed to enable him to stand there 
and do his duty. He had not a friend in court; even 
the wretched women awaiting sentence for drunkenness 
leered at him with contempt; miserable wretches of men 
loathsome with filth stood aloof as they would from a 
leper. And what were the facts ? 

The gentleman who made the complaint had no per- 


HOW I TRIUMPHED OVER THE LAW. 


77 


io?ial interest in the affair. Selfishly speaking, it did not 
concern him if men would drink and go down to destruc- 
tion, He stood there the most prominent illustrator of 
disinterestedness possible. He had nothing to gain for him- 
self in facing the ridicule he was compelled to encounter. 
He was unselfishly facing the judge’s sneers, the abuse 
of counsel and witnesses, in the interest of those who had 
become slaves to a pernicious habit. If other men were 
struggling in mud, he was walking on dry land: it did 
not benefit him personally to go down in the mire and 
seek to save men who were sinking. 

It is one of the strangest phases of human experience, 
the manner in which men caress and fondle the slimy 
serpent that is slowly coiling around to crush them to 
death; from its scaly skin there appears to exhale a 
moral malaria which pervades the atmosphere and floats 
a deadly poison, fatal to every manly sentiment, to all 
sense of honor and right. Under its influence judges 
become mere caricatures in their sacred office. Under 
its influence they turn to ridicule the laws they are ap- 
pointed to administer, they falsify their oaths and thus 
become practically criminals themselves. 

The accuser told his story. He related how he had 
entered the place on a holy Sabbath-day and had seen 
liquor sold and money paid for it. His statement was 
clear and positive, and being a disinterested witness, 
having no personal purpose to serve, his testimony 
should have been received with proper respect and at- 
tention. But such was not the case. The judge listened 
with impatience, and on every hand the witness was 
greeted with muttered derision. 

What is the unseen influence that thus shadows men’s 
minds ? Within the hour that same judge had witnessed 
enough misery and crime, the result of rum, to cause 
his blood to run cold. He had beheld the effects of the 


78 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


evil in every imaginable form, and from his bloated lips 
had come words of reprimand and advice. And there 
he sat frowning with contempt upon the brave accuser, 
who, without pay, in the face of abuse and revilings on 
every side, gave his time and spent his money to make 
impossible just such cases as “his Honor” had been re- 
proving. 

The testimony of the accuser was completed and the 
counsel for the rum-seller commenced his cross-examina- 
tion. He asked, 

“At what hour did you sneak into this gentleman’s 
place of business?” 

“It w T as about ten o’clock in the morning.” 

“On Sunday morning?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“As you are such a good Christian, why were you not 
at church at that hour instead of prowling around to 
meddle with other people’s business?” 

The sally of the counsel was received with laughter. 
Even the blistered lips of the judge curled in a smile, 
while in a calm and unruffled manner the witness an- 
swered, 

“I considered I was doing my duty as a Christian in 
seeking to have the laws which concern the Sabbath 
observed.” 

“And you consider it a part of Christianity to meddle 
in other people’s business?” 

Again there followed a laugh. The witness remained 
silent and the counsel continued, 

“You say you saw whiskey sold ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ What kind ?” 

“ Bourbon.” 

“ How do you know it was Bourbon ?” 

The witness smiled pleasantly and said, 


HOW I TRIUMPHED OVER THE LAW. 79 


<\The customers called for Bourbon, and as the bar- 
tender was there to sell liquor, I suppose that he sup- 
plied his customers with what they called for." 

The counsel laughed; also the judge, the jury, and 
the witnesses for the defence. They had a jolly time 
all around^ and the unseen master of ceremonies — the 
Devil — joined in the merriment' with a broad grin. 

“Your Hohor,” said the counsel, “I demand that this 
case be dismissed. The witness has the impudence to 
come here and swear that he supposes it was whiskey 
that the men drank, because he thinks it was whiskey he 
heard them call for. Why, your Honor, it is a mockery 
of justice, an invasion of the rights of citizens, that on 
such evidence an honorable man can be dragged into a 
court of justice !” 

The counsel’s eyes brightened, his voice floated a mag- 
nificent emotion as he stood there the champion of a 
citizen’s rights, and the faces of the assembly attested 
their indignation at the idea of such an outrage. 

The judge, however, knew the part he had to play. 
There must be some deference paid to a limited public 
opinion. Those who were in sympathy with the accuser 
must have a little recognition, but it was a very little 
they received. It was all right; the counsel understood 
it, so did the accused; they had no hard feelings against 
the judge when he refused to dismiss the complaint; 
they knew it would come out all right in the end in the 
interest of free rum and Sabbath-desecration; and it did. 

The lawyer resumed his cross-examination. 

“ You say you heard the men call for whiskey?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Is your hearing perfect ?” 

“ It is good.” 

“Did you taste the liquor yourself?” 

“ No, sir.” 


8o 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


“ Have you ever tasted liquor ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ When ?” 

“Twenty years ago. I was once a drinking man, but 
the Lord came to my rescue and I was saved.” 

There was the light of righteous enthusiasm in the 
eye of the witness, and strong emotion thrilled his voice. 

“ The Lord saved you ?” queried the lawyer in a 
derisive tone. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Well, he didn’t save much !” 

This last blasphemous taunt was received with yells 
of laughter, the judge and jury joining in the merri- 
ment; and the former did not appear called upon to 
protect a witness whose only purpose was the saving of 
lost men. 

I will not continue the recital. All who read the daily 
papers are familiar with the scenes that occur in the 
police-courts. 

The judge had refused to dismiss the case, and it was 
necessary to produce several witnesses for the defence. 

A man took the witness chair. He was a well-to-do 
tradesman, and the counsel asked, 

“Were you in Mr. B.’s place on Sunday last ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Why were you there ?” 

“I am a member of a lodge, also a member of the 
charity committee; we had a meeting last Sunday.” 

“ Is Mr. B. a member of that committee ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ And you met at Mr. B.’s store ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

The counsel looked around like a Roman tribune 
about to pronounce a decision in the interests of the 
people. With studied emphasis he said, 


HOW I TRIUMPHED O VER THE LA W. 


81 


“Observe, your Honor, a few gentlemen were gathered 
in the. interest of charity, utilizing the holy Sabbath for 
the bertefit of widows and orphans, when this snake-in- 
the-gras\ this sneaking wolf in sheep’s clothing, steals 
in and then goes forth and makes this monstrous charge.” 

The coun\el drew himself up to watch the effect of his 
words, and men who had got beastly drunk on that Sab- 
bath-day glowered their indignation. 

“ Did you see anything drunk while you were there?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“What ?” 

“ Water.” 

“Water from bottles?” 

“ No, sir; water from pitchers.” 

“You saw the gentlemen pour water into glasses and 
drink it?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

The counsel turned round and loftily said, 

“Did one ever hear of such an outrage? Gentlemen 
assembled on a Sabbath in the interest of charity, are 
dragged into court as malefactors !” 

The judge frowned with indignation, so did the jury 
and the miserable court loungers. They all frowned, 
even the Devil frowned. The idea of such a thing ! 
positively the idea of dragging such an innocent and in- 
offensive citizen into court on such a charge ! I laugh. 
I repeat the scene just as it occurred. Please observe 
the subtlety of the counsel; how well he guided the wit- 
ness; the latter did not tell a lie, he did not perjure him- 
self. He did see water drunk, poured from a pitcher, 
pure Croton; he did not tell, however, that he had seen 
whiskey poured into the glass first, and that it was water 
and whiskey he saw drunk. He did not so testify; and 
had an opposing counsel questioned him on that point 
he would have fallen back upon the stereotyped evasion, 
0 


82 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP . 


“he did not remember.” The great bar to the admin- 
istration of justice is this loss of memory. Witnesses 
conveniently remember what is pertinent to their own 
interest — forget all else. 

The case was given to the jury; they rendered a ver- 
dict for the defendant without leaving their seats, and 
assumed a lofty air as though they had done a righteous 
act. Satan also held his head aloft. Judge and jury 
were his tools; there was not one man present who did 
not conscientiously believe that liquor had been sold and 
the law violated, but they looked upon the law as an in- 
vasion of personal rights, and gloried in defeating it. 
Thus again virtue found enemies when it should have 
found friends and defenders. 

Again I laugh. The judge went so far as to rebuke 
the accuser; applied to him the term “ meddler.” It 
was the devil’s day, and will be his day as long as there 
are Mr. Moderates, Deacon Moderates; clergymen who 
preach temperance in all things; judges who drink; wit- 
nesses and juries who drink; and while all of these give 
support and countenance to the evil that is destroying 
them and their friends by thousands. 

My man was acquitted, and that afternoon the judge 
dropped down to the place and drank and hobnobbed 
with a man who, if the former had performed his duty, 
would have been an inmate of a jail. 




HOW THE PENALTY FELL UPON A MAN WHO 
NEVER GOT DRUNK. 

OME days after the trial in the court- 
room, I was waiting for something start- 
ling — a new phase. For a long time I 
had been administering to merely con- 
ventional cases. I desired a thrilling 
exhibition of my influence, and it came 
with the entrance of a man who was a frequent visitor in 
the place. I had paid little attention to him previously. 
This was a type not worth recording, but as he came 
forward on the day in question I experienced a premoni- 
tion of approaching excitement. 

Mr. Subtle was a cautious man, and, as I have inti- 
mated, a conventional type of a bar-room habitut. He 
owned a pair of small gray eyes, a short, well-nourished 
form, and presented the appearance of a man who felt 
pretty comfortable. He ran a successful business, and 
was apparently at ease with the world, himself, and the 
devil. His peculiar hobby was his self-control; he 
prided himself on the fact, as he declared, that he had 
never been really intoxicated in his life. He pretended to 



8 4 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


despise a man who “got drunk," looked upon him as a 
poor, weak fool. “Look at me," he would say; ‘‘when 
I have got enough I know it and quit. A man who 
can’t quit when he has got enough should not drink." 

He was a jolly fellow; laughed in a loud and boister- 
ous manner, pretended to be very free-hearted and lib- 
eral, was always ready to “set ’em up," and gloried in the 
bar-room distinction he thereby earned, as he was eagerly 
welcomed by the hungry gang that usually hang around 
such places. He was a favorite with the bartender, who 
always chaffed with him and extended the usual adula- 
tion enjoyed by such men as Mr. Subtle, who on their 
merits could not otherwise attract even passing atten- 
tion. 

Immediately after the first drink he was surrounded 
by the usual clique of sycophants, and his oraculism 
commenced. He expressed his opinion on this subject 
and on that. Everybody agreed with what he said, and 
his coarse wit was greeted with laughter and plaudits. 
He pronounced judgments political, theological, and ju- 
dicial, and delivered his opinion of men and measures to 
a lot of poor “ eight-o’clock-sharp-to-morrow-morning" 
fellows, who stood by pouring liquor into stomachs that 
were empty of everything else. Subtle enjoyed the dis- 
tinction and became proportionately self-important. 

While the scene above described was in progress a 
young gentleman entered, a tall, fine-looking fellow. I 
knew him well and shall call him Mr. Hotblood. I had 
once accompanied him to his home. His wife was an 
energetic, brave, and excellent woman. He had been 
drawn within the charmed circle of rum’s allurement, 
but neither constitutionally nor mentally was he adapted 
to become a moderate drinker; he was too imaginative; 
his blood was too warm; his normal pulse-beat was 
ninety. When sober, he despised liquor and despised 


A MAN WHO NEVER GOT DRUNK . 


85 


the class of men who frequent bar-rooms; and when free 
from the influence, really enjoyed a purer and better at- 
mosphere. His wife, as I have intimated, was a brave 
Christian woman; she had sought to save her husband, 
and had stood a barrier between him and evil associa- 
tions; she had exercised patience, endurance, and cour- 
age, had thereby to a certain extent controlled his appe- 
tite, and she was gradually drawing him back from the 
grasp of the devil. 

I had gone home with him one night, and even now I 
recall the shudder that passed over the poor wife’s frame 
when his breath betrayed my presence; and, despite the 
pitiful picture on one hand, I laugh even now at the re- 
membrance of his attempts to conceal the fact from her 
that he had brought the devil home with him. He 
thought he had succeeded, but his very efforts would 
have betrayed my presence even if his breath had not 
previously revealed the fact. He talked to prove how 
rational he was, but talked too much; repeated himself, 
and I saw the shadow deepen on the wife’s face. The 
agony that swelled her heart was but poorly relieved by 
the long-drawn sighs that involuntarily struggled from 
her lips. It was evident she did not wish to speak, that 
she had determined to suffer in silence; but she could 
not restrain the tears that leaped to her eyes and ran 
down her cheeks. 

“Kate, what is the matter?” 

“ Oh, Willie!” she cried, and, rising from her seat, ran 
and threw herself upon his bosom. 

“ What is the matter?” the hypocrite again de- 
manded. 

She answered, “You know what the matter is, poor, 
poor man! Oh, what will become of you ? what will be- 
come of me ? You do not love me — you cannot love me 
or you would not cause me this anguish.” 


86 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


Willie saw that he was betrayed; his volubility had 
not saved him. He did love his wife, and he said, 

“Kate, I’ll own up; I did drink a little to-day, but it’s 
the last time.” 

“Oh, Willie, how often has it been the last time? I 
tremble to think that when the last time really does come 
my heart will be broken." 

“ I mean it now, Kate.” 

“ My dear, I give you credit for always meaning it 
when you say it, but the appetite is stronger than your 
will. Can you not realize how strong it is when you can 
cause me this agony, imperil the future of your children, 
and suspend your own soul over the abyss of perdition ? 
Oh, Willie, Willie, what can save you? If your appetite 
is stronger than your love for wife and children, I fear 
you are a doomed man.” 

“ Well, now, you just wait and see.” 

Three months passed. Willie happened to enter the 
bar-room on the day that Mr. Subtle was holding forth 
in all his glory. The men were acquaintances, and 
the moment Subtle beheld Willie Hotblood he invited 
him to drink. 

“No, thank you, I am not drinking,” was the answer. 

“Nonsense! take something with me.” 

Willie had abstained for three months, but, alas! he had 
ventured within the charmed circle ; he had entered where the 
air was permeated with temptation. He of all men had no 
business there; and he knew it. When he yielded to an 
invitation to go in and merely take a cigar, he afforded 
the devil an opportunity. Subtle urged him to drink, 
and Willie yielded so far as to take a lemon soda. The 
soda was the devil’s first coil. The second slimy circle 
was made when the young man was induced to join the 
group. The odor of liquor pervaded the place. A dozen 
men were exhaling its fumes, and its spell was betrayed 


A MAN WHO NEVER GOT DRUNK. 


87 


when the tempted man fell into the talk and swagger of 
the occasion. Meantime Mr. Subtle kept urging him to 
take something. At length he yielded; the fumes had 
gone down and stirred up the old inflammations and 
made possible the declaration that has proved the death- 
sentence of so many doomed men . 

“ I don't care if I do take just one drink." 

He took it. To him it was like the first taste of blood 
to a half-starved tiger. When the resolution is overcome 
for the first drink nature can make but a feeble struggle 
against the second. He drank the second. His eyes 
began to glaze, his cheek to redden; and with the third 
drink his voice was raised; his usual dignity fled; he be- 
came the loudest and wildest talker of the party. 

Young Hotblood was naturally a man of decided opin- 
ions. Liquor made him aggressive and obstinate. He 
boldly disagreed with Mr. Subtle. He was the only per- 
son present who dared dispute the bar-room Mogul. 
Mr. Subtle became offensive and satirical; used the 
words “fool” and “no gentleman,” and expressed his 
disgust with a man who could not drink a drop or two 
without getting drunk. 

Did Subtle forget that it was he who had urged the 
fiery madman to take the first drink? No; but his 
subtle nature was only his own defence; it did not serve 
to shield another. 

The two men became angry towards each other. Hot- 
blood waxed furious. The quarrel drifted into a bitter 
dispute. Insulting language passed. The maniac — 
whom Subtle had made a maniac — became abusive and 
provoking. The man who never got drunk, who con- 
trolled his appetite for liquor, could not control his tem- 
per, and in a moment of sudden anger he struck the 
madman! A tragedy followed. There came a pistol- 


88 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


flash, a report, a shriek, and Mr. Subtle fell dead, while 
Willie Hotblood stood with the smoking pistol in his 
grasp, a red-handed murderer, guilty before the law that 
recognized, aided, and abetted the sale of a fluid which alone 
could have goaded him on to the bloody deed. 

The crowd of drinkers stood aghast, while Subtle lay 
with the life-blood oozing from his wound. And poor 
Willie Hotblood! I was in his brain and responded to 
the first tremor that swept over his frame as he realized 
what he had done. I grew cold in his heated blood; 
and, as I cooled, there came to him one thought, “ My 
poor wife! My poor wife!” 

She, indeed, had cause for tears. Her husband had 
taken his last drink. In his case the demon’s work was 
done. 

The police entered, Willie Hotblood was led off to 
prison, and Mr. Subtle, the man who had never walked 
home drunk, was carried home dead — the victim of the 
maniac he had lured on to madness ! 

The reflex influence shadowed two homes. One was 
in mourning over the dead; the other under a situation 
even more agonizing than the presence of death. 

Again I wish it understood that I present no imagi- 
nary picture, but a real incident. And the same scenes 
are of daily occurrence. Society still smiles, the law 
still recognizes, a few preachers still preach, temperate 
indulgence, while the devil grins and goes on with his 
work. And he is the busiest agent among men! 

I went to prison with Willie Hotblood. I was with 
him when first left alone. He sat with his head buried 
in his hands, and groaned and moaned in agony. I was 
there when the wife came, looking like a statue in the 
whiteness of despair and the coldness that wrapped her 
suffering frame. 


A MAN WHO NEVER GOT DRUNK. 


89 


On this picture I will not dwell. The law that winks 
at the curse must punish the cursed. The devil is counte- 
nanced. It is his victim that must suffer. And this is the 
satire on consistency which is hailed by the advocates 
of personal rights as their political religion. 




A NARRATIVE WHEREIN I MAKE A REVELATION 
AND UNCOVER A FAMILY SKELETON. 

T RAGEDIES were coming under my ob- 
servation thick and fast. It has been 
suggested that there are epidemics of 
certain crimes, but the rum evil does 
not come under that heading; its work 
goes on steadily; it is a perpetual epi- 
demic of evil. Morning, noon, and night witness its 
ravages ; and so every hour will contribute its chapter 
of horrors until all the influences that now favor and 
countenance it are combined for its suppression. 

I was seated on my cork. A group of men were stand- 
ing in front of the bar; they were discussing a great riot 
that had occurred in London. One gentleman read the 
account aloud, and one statement particularly fixed my 
attention. The cable brought the news one day that the 
mob had not proceeded to violence, because they had not been 
plied with liquor. A cable on the following day announced 
that they had commenced a series of wanton outrages, 
because they had been plied with liquor , and, once started, 
they secured more by raids on liquor-saloons, until they 
were inflamed to fury and bent on acts of incendiarism, 
robbery, and murder. 



A FAMILY SKELETON UNCOVERED. 


91 


I laughed. These men standing in the bar-room, 
were at that moment pouring down their throats a 
liquid without which great mobs are harmless. The 
newspaper account proved that it requires only the in- 
spiration of rum to urge men on to deeds of violence. 

In the same journal the reader found another signifi- 
cant item which he also read aloud; and I desire my 
readers to mark the incident, as the court records will 
prove that it was but one instance of what is a universally 
recognized fact. The police had made a raid on a num- 
ber of brothels and had arrested their female proprietors, 
and in every case the bondsmen of these moral lepers 
were liquor-dealers, thereby establishing the connection 
between the two evils, as I have claimed all through this 
confession. 

Among the group of listeners was a pleasant-faced 
man. He drank several times and appeared to appreci- 
ate my superior merit, as when ready to depart he pur- 
chased a bottle, and I was carried to his home. 

Before sitting down to his meal he took an appetizer, 
and I was permitted to study his history. He was an 
excellent man; all his natural impulses were good, and 
I wondered how he ever became a drinker, until I read 
the record from his brain, and there learned that the in- 
fluence had been carried from across seas. 

This victim was a native of England. His father was 
a good churchman, and according to a prevailing custom 
had liquor at meals for his family and furnished it to his 
servants. Thus, I discovered that my victim had been 
brought up from boyhood to use liquor, and was one of the 
finest specimens, under all the circumstances, of a mod- 
erate drinker I had yet encountered. 

At the time I made his acquaintance he was in the 
prime of life, just forty, and for nearly that number of 
years had been a consistent moderate drinker. He was 


92 THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 

a church-member and active worker in the Sabbath 
school, and a successful merchant. 

The night I went home with him was a church-meet- 
ing night, and with him I proceeded to the meeting. 
The pastor of the church was a true pastor, one who felt 
that he had been set over his people to warn them 
against every evil. He was a fearless pastor, and felt 
compelled to assail sin in any form that it was permitted 
to imperil the members of his charge. He looked upon 
the use of liquor in the true light as a practice that not 
only obstructed Christian effort, but one that imperilled 
the soul. Upon every opportune occasion he inveighed 
against it as earnestly as he did against any other viola- 
tion of the decalogue. 

My victim, although a good and kindly man, disagreed 
on this question with the pastor, whom in his heart he 
loved. He felt that the clergyman had a hobby, and 
was willing to take a little dose of the hobby once in a 
while; but upon the evening of which I write the good 
pastor was particularly earnest. He spoke in plainer 
terms than he had ever spoken before. He appeared 
determined, if possible, to drive the wolf from his fold. 

My victim and several others became offended and 
left the meeting, as a rebuke to the pastor for his meddle- 
someness. The latter was not to be silenced, however, 
and in his concluding prayer pointedly supplicated that 
the eyes of those in danger might be opened to their 
peril. 

My victim returned home. He found his wife not 
feeling well: she was not ill, but a little nervous and de- 
pressed. She was a lady of culture and of a decidedly 
nervous temperament. I discovered also that, like her 
husband, she was kindly in her disposition and exceed- 
ingly charitable, sympathetic with and helpful to the 
needy in every direction. She was also in every sense a 


A FAMILY SKELETON UNCOVERED. 


93 


lady. She had been reared differently from her husband; 
she was an American by birth, and had been taught to 
avoid the use of liquor; and during her married life up 
to the time that I made her acquaintance, although 
countenancing her husband’s indulgence, had not her- 
self indulged. Her husband was so good, so loving, 
and so discreet in his use of liquor that she had not dis- 
cerned the peril. 

On the night when her husband returned from the 
church meeting he said, 

“You are not feeling well; let me give you a little 
whiskey; it will do you good!” He poured some into a 
glass and continued, “Here, take this!” 

The wife did take it. 

Later on I returned to the bar-room and went forward 
with my work. It was two years before I returned to 
that house. One night the husband entered and called 
for a bottle of whiskey. There were several bottles from 
my barrel remaining, some of those I have previously 
mentioned as having been put aside to ripen with age; 
and thus once more I visited the home above described. 

Upon this my second visit, after the lapse of two years, 
I made a sad and startling discovery. I had been pur- 
chased, not for the husband’s use, but for that of the 
wife. Upon the following day I was introduced into her 
system and permitted to take observation. Having been 
there once before, I determined to study what progress 
had been made, and beheld a sight that would have 
frozen the heart of a demon if he had possessed a heart 
to freeze. 

Two years had done wonders in the way of wrecking 
a good and generous woman. I read the record, how 
from the night her husband had said, “Take this!” she 
had progressed to say, “ Give me that.” 

It was the old story. The sensations following the 


94 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


first glass were new to her; the exhilaration was delight- 
ful, and as she was of a peculiarly nervous temperament 
the work of the fiend was rapid. Thus I became a wit- 
ness to a singular and startling phase of rum’s influence. 

After her husband’s departure for his business one day, 
the wife, who was nursing a young child, resorted to her 
bottle. She drank several times, and when afternoon 
arrived was partly intoxicated. Orders had been given 
that she would receive no visitors, as she was “ ill.” Vis- 
itors came; they were refused at the door. The poor 
woman lay in bed, and the cause of her illness stood upon 
a table at the bedside. 

It happened that it was the nurse’s afternoon out, and 
the mother was left in charge of her babe. She took the 
infant to bed with her, though she was conscious that she 
had momentarily deprived herself of her usual strength 
and motherly capacity. She fell into a maudlin slumber, 
and when the fumes of the liquor were partly slept off, 
she awoke. Her first thought was of her child. She 
looked, and a scream burst from her lips as her eyes fell 
upon a little stiffening corpse. In her drunken sleep 
she had rolled over upon the babe and had smothered 
it to death. 

The mother’s screams brought the cook from the 
kitchen. The latter was despatched for the doctor. He 
came, and the mother told how the poor child had been 
taken with a sudden convulsion and had died. 

The doctor examined the little corpse, and a shadow 
fell over his face. He sent the servant from the room. 
The mother and the physician were alone. The latter 
fixed his eyes upon the unwitting murderess. She 
cowered under his glance. Despair and terror filled her 
heart. She saw that the doctor read the truth— the child 
had died of a convulsion, but the convulsion had been 
superinduced by suffocation. 


A FAMILY SKELETON UNCOVERED. 


95 


The distracted mother dropped to her knees, tears 
streamed down her face, a wail went up from her lips, 
and she uttered one despairing appeal, “ Spare me !” 

The doctor stood a moment lost in deep and serious 
thought. He knew it was not a wilful murder — it was 
an accident ! He well discerned how the accident had 
occurred, and the question arose, what should he do ? The 
lady was of high social position. Before the law she 
was innocent; she could not be legally punished for her 
criminal indulgence. As she knelt at his feet she was 
more to be pitied than rebuked at that moment. The 
doctor did pity her: he hoped it might prove a lesson; 
she was cultured and beautiful, but weak. She had been 
tempted, and had fallen into the grasp of the tempter. 

“ Spare me !” she repeated in tones that thrilled his 
inmost soul. 

The appeal would have softened even a colder heart. 
The physician’s eyes were moistened with tears as in a 
husky voice he said, 

“ I will keep your secret /” 

It was a promise that could be easily kept. The poor 
mother’s arm had but lain across the child’s mouth and 
had stopped its breathing; the outward appearance, to 
an inexperienced observer, readily confirmed the state- 
ment that it had died in a convulsion. 

It was a terrible moment, however, for the mother; 
she was safe against exposure, but language cannot por- 
tray her inward agony. The husband was telegraphed 
for; neighbors were called in; the usual sympathies were 
expressed, and the formalities attending such an occa- 
sion followed. 

The mother stole away, weeping, to another room; she 
had previously carried the bottle there to conceal it; her 
eye fell upon it, and, alas! the usual result followed. The 
tragedy, instead of killing the craving, created it; the 


9 6 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


horror of the situation carried the necessity, to a woman 
who had brought herself to such a condition, for some- 
thing that would temporarily stifle all remembrance. It 
is one of the properties of liquor not to be appalled at 
the consequences of its own devilish work. The mother 
had invited the dilemma; as it stood, she must drink or 
go mad — a case of the hair of the dog to cure the 
bite. 

I will not dwell upon the scenes that followed during 
the next few days. The doctor was faithful to his 
promise. He gave a certificate; not even to the hus- 
band, who had first said “ Take this,” was the terrible 
truth revealed. 

In due time the clergyman held services over the 
smothered babe. He did not suspect the truth; indeed, 
did not know that the mother had fallen into the power 
of the Demon of Rum. He was full of sympathy, and 
expressed kindly words of condolence. The mother had 
resorted to me for strength to bear the ordeal. I was in 
her brain when she listened to the prayer that went up, 
and she shuddered and turned cold when the clergy- 
man, ever faithful to his duty, dared ask that the seem- 
ing affliction might be sanctified to the father of the dead 
child. The inference was plain as to how he intended 
the supplication to be understood. Now mark what fol- 
lowed; observe how complicated and far-reaching is the 
influence we throw around our victims. The mother’s 
nerves were completely unstrung, so she taught herself 
to think; she had passed the point where any lesson 
could prove effective; even in the damning horror of its 
work, the serpent created the desire for its embrace, and 
while the father was away to the grave the mother drank 
to keep up her nerve. 

I remained in this household until my work was com- 
plete. Two weeks following the death of the infant, the 


A FAMILY SKELETON UNCOVERED. 97 

husband returned home and found his wife in a state of 
beastly intoxication. I have said that after victims 
reach a certain point they cannot be appalled out of 
their infirmity: my statement is true. It is a fact that 
self-invited adversity through the agency of liquor be- 
comes but a whip to lash the victims forward with 
greater speed down the road to ruin. 

The husband reproached the wife; she laughed and 
jeered at him. The devil that had supplanted him in 
her love, had taken full possession, and the time arrived 
when the secret could be maintained no longer; it 
became known that the wife and mother drank liquor. 
The husband that had laughed at the clergyman's 
pleadings and warnings, stood aghast in the presence of 
the consequences which had followed the simple “ Take 
this!" He became desperate under the mortification and 
disgrace. The lines of moderation were broken through: 
He was compelled to “ nerve up” continually, and the 
process, as usual, resulted in weakening his own sense of 
pride. His business was neglected, and eventually sacri- 
ficed. Creditors sold his house over his head, and he 
was compelled to move into hired quarters. These ad- 
versities became the excuse for more frequent libations, 
and resulted in his returning to his home intoxicated. 
Where peace and purity and Christain order had once 
reigned, rum rioted. 

In time the husband secured a clerkship, but his 
troubles preyed upon his mind; his wife’s conduct each 
day lessened his chance for reformation. When too 
late, under the advice of sympathetic friends, he tried to 
combat the enemy he had introduced into his own house- 
hold, but it was an unequal struggle; he had sacrificed 
the strength he required for the contest; and she, who 
should have been his support, was the weight that bore 
him down. Indeed, her excess reached such proportions 
7 


9 8 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


that it became necessary for the protection of the chil- 
dren that something should be done. 

The husband took advantage of a sober moment to 
talk with his wife, and told her that unless she desisted 
he would be compelled to send her to an inebriate 
asylum. It was then the woman burst forth. She reviled 
him as the tempter; taunted him with having first put 
the damning cup to her lips; dared him to punish her, 
when he had made her what she was. The poor man 
groaned in bitterness of spirit; he still loved his wife, 
and he could not deny the charge. 

Time went on: the woman fell step by step. But one 
recourse remained to the husband and father: in the in- 
terest of his children he was compelled to go before a 
police-justice and make a complaint against the wife 
and mother as an habitual drunkard. She was sentenced 
to the Island, a public prison for the confinement of 
offenders of her class. 

What was it the judge sentenced to the Island ? A 
bloated, maniac woman who, a few years previously, 
had been an ornament to society, cultured and beauti- 
ful, the revered goddess of a loving household. And 
here is where the influence, through methods that are 
applied to-day, struck right in the very heart of that 
society which, with examples like the one described, still 
countenances the evil. And again I remark that one 
such case should turn every influence against a curse 
presenting such possibilities. 

I have told a true tale, and have only failed in depict- 
ing the details of horrors in this case, which are beyond 
the power of pen to record. 

On the Island rum was withheld from the victim. The 
burning reaction set in; nature had been outraged to 
such a degree that the Destroyer was necessary to sustain 
the flickering remnant of life. Exhilaration had become 


A FAMILY SKELETON UNCOVERED. 


99 


necessary to the rotted organs, and when it came not, 
decay asserted its sway, and she fell into physical insen- 
sibility and died. 

The husband stood over her coffin, but he did not 
realize the horrors of the situation: he had fortified 
himself for the occasion; every better sense of feeling 
was deadened and paralyzed; his adversity was his 
excuse and my opportunity; he had glided too far down 
the slimy path to retrace his steps; he had reached the 
point where sorrow and misery but whetted the appetite. 

A few months passed following the death of the wife; 
every stay had been knocked away; the poor wretch 
sank rapidly below the level of even momentary self- 
respect; he became useless to his employers, and they 
closed their contract by dismissing his service and pay- 
ing him the money up to the hour of its legal expiration. 
With this money he went upon a spree, and when he did 
return to his home fell into a drunken sleep, from which 
he never awakened on earth. 

I repeat I have related a true tale; and I again repeat 
that the law, and all the other influences I have enume- 
rated in the preceding pages, are still cast in favor of the 
Destroyer; are still engaged carrying on similar work in 
thousands of homes. 




I GO THROUGH SOILED ERMINE, PRESENT A SAD 
PHASE AND A FAMILIAR FIGURE. 

ME day a shabbily dressed man shuffled 
into the bar-room. His face was cad- 
averous, and his eyes gleamed with a 
hungry-whipped-dog expression. His 
clothes were poor, worn thread-bare, but 
well brushed; the threads that hung 
together betrayed how carefully they were preserved; 
while his willowy high hat was polished and brushed 
until it resembled gloss on a piece of pasteboard. The 
poor fellow attempted a show of quiet gentlemanly 
dignity, but his dilapidated appearance converted the 
attempt into a pitiable pretence. 

The poor object stood awhile near the stove casting 
furtive glances towards the lunch-bar, and at length 
with an air of assumed indifference and nonchalance he 
ambled over, and his attenuated fingers seized upon bits 
of cracker and crumbled cheese. At once his manner 
changed, his starving stomach asserted itself, and the 
attenuated fingers did rapid work in supplying its need. 
Suddenly he appeared to observe that there was a 



A NARRATIVE OF SOILED ERMINE. 


IOI 


“change” bartender in attendance. A chance for a 
“bilk” drink was suggested, and with an assumed impe- 
rial air he ordered one, and announced that he would 
hand over the change when he came in again. 

He did not take the drink and then announce the fact 
of his impecuniosity, simply because he was physically 
unable to undergo the ordeal of a “kick out.” Numer- 
ous bruises covered by his patched trousers could have 
testified to many such experiences. 

The bartender fixed his eyes upon the man with an 
expression of contempt and said, 

“We don’t do business that way !” 

The light fled from the eyes of the shabby gentleman; 
his extended hand was withdrawn from the bottle, and 
with a sigh, he drew back and shuffled out of the place. 

“ Do you know that man ?” I heard the bartender say, 
addressing a group in front of the bar. “That is ex- 

Judge ; he used to be one of the smartest judges in 

New York, but now he is a dirty ‘bum.’ Did you see 
how he tried to stand me up for a drink ?” 

“Is that Judge ?” queried one of the group, his 

face assuming an expression of surprise. 

“ Yes, sir; that’s Judge . Whiskey has got the best 

of him; he’s no good now; he’s a rotten old beat !” 

This was the rude manner in which a ruined victim was 
placed on record; this was the heartless style in which a 
rum dispenser described a specimen of the effect of that 
very liquid he was dispensing, to men travelling the same 
road. And such is the barefaced impertinence of rum 
that such frankness prevails in the midst of the destroy- 
ing process. The sight of the judge did not serve as a 
warning, nor was his fate recognized as a reproach to the 
business of rum-selling. Again, it was not the curse 
that was held responsible, but the cursed ! 

A few moments passed and the judge returned. The 


i02 


the confessions of an imp. 


lunch-counter was the attraction: he had made one suc- 
cessful raid upon it and appeared to be resolved to risk a 
second. As he entered .one of the party to whom his 
“pedigree” had been given, advanced and said, 

“ Hello, Judge, how do you do ?” 

The judge’s hand was promptly extended; a hopeful 
light shone in his eyes; such a recognition promised 
something; it presented the possibility of an invitation. 

“Come,” said the man, “we are just going to drink; 
will you join us ?” 

That miserable wretch starving for a drink dared to 
coquet for a moment with the invitation, but there was 
design and method in his coquetry; he was hanging on 
to the momentary distinction in order to pave the way 
for future invitations. 

“I don’t know,” he said; “I have just left a party of 
friends !” 

“ Oh, come along !” 

The judge glared around upon the usual group of 
hangers-on. It was his moment of triumph; such tri- 
umphs came rarely. With a pompous air he joined the 
party, and when the bottle was passed to him poured 
out a quantity that led the bartender to wink, as he 
directed the attention of the group to the improvement 
of an opportunity. 

The judge was a good talker, and the recognition of 
the party gave him a free and easy claim upon the lunch. 
With the food and whiskey his blood warmed up, he 
commenced to “swell,” and his reminiscences came forth 
until the party got tired of listening to the catalogue of 
his magnificent intimacies. 

At length the party, one by one, stole away; the judge 
was left alone in his glory. Compelled to lay aside the 
passing distinction, he staggered to the street, and under 
the exhilaration was once more, in imagination* a judge. 


A NARRATIVE OF SOILED ERMINE. 103 

I went with him and through him, poor fellow. I had 
a sad experience, as with him I was kicked out from a 
place where, under my exhilaration, unmindful of former 
experiences, he attempted to obtain credit. 

There was no respect for this veteran “elbow-swinger;” 
long service under the Demon of Rum is not followed by 
respect or a pension; not even in the places where he 
had squandered his fortune, his reputation, health, and 
self-respect did he receive any consideration. Whiskey 
harbors no pleasant remembrances for the man whom it 
has destroyed; its pleasant cajolings and recognitions 
are for new victims. Ruined wretches, no matter what 
glorious fellows they may have been while madly rush- 
ing on to their own destruction, are of no account. They 
are looked upon as nuisances; their presence is undesired. 
In the gin-palaces, which their money helped to decorate, 
there is less sympathy, pity, and toleration for them on 
the part of their destroyers than in any other quarter. 
The sirens become in the end, mocking jilts, biting adders 
and stinging serpents. 

I went with the judge to his miserable lodging place. 
He had no permanent home; his wife had — in her grave! 
His child, a married daughter and a fashionable woman, 
under her changed name, ignored her parentage. She 
could not save the wretch, her father; she would not 
endure him, and he was left to live on the low level to 
which rum had dragged him down. 

As the poor creature slept I read his history. He had 
been well educated, was once a brilliant man, and his 
splendid attainments gained for him an appointment 
upon the Bench. He was the soul of honor, and a splen- 
did future lay before him; when the interests of a great 
corporation came under his judicial consideration, at- 
tempts were made to bribe him; but no, he was an hon- 
orable man; he spurned the offers and his soul revolted 


104 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


against the insult. He was a righteous judge, and, but 
for one false step, would have lived and died in honor. 

The interests of the corporation were great, and their 
agents commenced a regular siege. Parties unknown in 
the suit were called into service. The corrupters well 
knew of one method by which even a judge’s honor can 
be undermined. 

The judge was invited to dinner with several distin- 
guished men. He did not know a plot had been laid, 
nor that a plan of gradual demoralization had been con- 
ceived. He accepted the invitation to dinner. Wine 
was brought on. He had never tasted liquor in his life, 
but was persuaded to take a little wine. The devil’s 
handy little aid — curiosity — was employed in the open- 
ing assault, and the judge yielded. He liked the wine, 
the sensation was new, and he permitted himself to listen 
to the alluring statement that a little wine was good for 
the stomach. 

Right here I wish to meet a little isolated scriptural 
declaration which has frequently been tortured into a 
license for the use of liquor in moderation. I offer no 
apology for alluding to scripture in this confession, as 
devils are frequently alluded to in scripture. 

The author of the text which is thus tortured was writ- 
ing to a friend, admonishing him as to certain duties. 
The use of liquor was not in any sense a part of the 
writer’s theme; and it is strikingly evident that at a cer- 
tain point he recalled that his friend was ailing; he stops 
a moment in his general admonition and suggests a spe- 
cific remedy. Up to the point where he offers the sug- 
gestion there had been no allusion to the subject, nor is 
there immediately afterwards. It stands an isolated 
recommendation as it occurred at the moment the advice 
was given — a digression too apparent for misconstruc- 
tion. He might as well have said “ Take a little quinine 


A NARRATIVE OF SOILED ERMINE. 10 $ 


or castor oil !” and thereby have recommended the two 
noxious drugs as a good thing for a beverage. 

The judge was several times invited to dinners to meet 
distinguished men. He soon came to like his “little 
wine for his stomach’s sake;” imagined it did him good, 
and in time did not wait for invitation dinners, but took 
wine at his own private meals. Well, as is usually the 
case, he passed from wine to liquor. The necessary re- 
sult followed; the liquor brought him into other tempta- 
tions: increased his expenses of living. Before learning 
to drink his salary had more than supported him; but 
the expense of wine and liquors caused him to run be- 
hind his income. One night, under the influence of 
liquor, he was persuaded into a gambling saloon. He 
played and lost ! A new appetite was created; his moral 
temperature fell lower and lower; he ran in debt; his 
salary became as a bagatelle to his requirements for the 
gratification of his several recreations. The undermining 
process had progressed sufficiently far, and the corpora- 
tion approached him again, and did so successfully. 
Rum had demolished all the strong citadels that de- 
fended his honor. He accepted the bribe, and his rul- 
ings were the immoral returns for the money. Exposure 
followed; his monstrous decisions excited public clamor; 
he was impeached and deposed; a dishonored man, he 
drank deep to drown his self-reproachings. The devil 
had him in his grasp. He was beyond the point where 
allurements are required. Satan passes over those of 
whom he is sure, and assails those who are not fully 
under his influence; his blandishments are for the latter, 
and kicks and rebuffs for such as the judge. 

So men go on; lured towards the gates of perdition, 
only to be kicked over the threshold at last. And this 
ungrateful, insinuating devil rides on over law and virtue, 
in a chariot drawn by society, Mr. Moderates, Deacon 


io 6 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


Moderates, temperance-preaching clergymen, and all the 
other influences that attend the triumphal car of vice; 
and this juggernaut is dragged on, crushing down inno- 
cent babes, praying wives, agonized mothers, pleading 
fathers, and kindly warning friends; and its track runs 
red with the blood of its victims. 



CHAPTER XIV. 


I ILLUSTRATE A SADLY UNRECOGNIZED PHASE 
OF THE REFLEX INFLUENCE. 

WAS carried one day by a customer, 
securely bottled, not to his own home, 
but to the residence of a friend; and to 
my surprise, after having been delivered, 
I discovered that I was in the house of 
a pastor of a prominent church. At 
the moment my purchaser presented me, he did so with 
the remark, 

“ I’ve managed to secure a bottle of genuine Bourbon; 
it is the pure stuff; and as a medicine, a most excellent 
remedy.” 

The remark momentarily misled me. I had determined 
that I was intended as a substitute for bromide, and 
would be taken occasionally at night to soothe a tired 
brain to rest. I did not conceive it possible that I was 
intended as a beverage. I speedily discovered my mis- 
take, however. I was carried into the library and let in- 
to a secret; and I made a tour of the good man’s system 
an hour before his regular meal. As I glided between 
his lips, had I possessed the conventional caudal append- 



io8 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


age pictorially represented as belonging to all imps, said 
appendage would have been snapped off by the lusty 
smack following immediately my passage beyond his 
teeth. 

Just before the evening meal the clergyman took a 
second quiet “ snack” from the bottle; and the second 
was no “snifter” either, but a good honest three-finger 
“smile.” 

Meantime I had been making internal observations, 
and discovered from the start that I had struck a pecu- 
liar case. Whiskey was doing the good man but little 
physical harm; he kept his stomach so gorged with solid 
food and indulged at such regular intervals, his organs 
were partially protected. I could see that the work was 
going on slowly as concerned his vitals, but in another 
direction the assaults of whiskey were apparent. 

The clergyman was very eloquent, and had been singu- 
larly distinguished for his orthodoxy. As a preacher he 
had been very successful, was held in high esteem, and 
exercised a commanding influence in directing theologi- 
cal thought. 

In rummaging around in the memory cells of his brain, 
I found the old records and learned how he had once 
been a pronounced antagonist of the demon Rum. He 
had assailed the allurer in the most vigorous manner, 
but the time came when these assaults ceased, and I was 
enabled to observe that they ceased just at the time when 
the devil, under the tonic-mask, had gained a controlling 
interest in the poor man’s changing opinions. Having 
gained the one foothold, his extended influence was be- 
trayed by a gradual conformity to worldliness. He 
slowly began to take a more liberal view of certain indul- 
gences, which, after all, were but the devil’s methods 
veiled. 

I could see that the orthodoxy of the man had been 


ANOTHER PHASE OF THE REFLEX INFLUENCE . IO9 

assailed in a most subtle manner. Intense orthodoxy and 
the Demon of Rum do not agree. Consistent Christian 
methods are fatal to his influence, and in order to make 
his work effective, the devil was compelled to extend his 
undermining approaches beyond a mere recognition of 
his power in one direction only, and found it necessary 
to attempt a more complete demoralization. 

The clergyman ministered to a large congregation. 
As stated, his reputation extended far and near as a 
leader in theological thought and interpretation, and his 
falling away from fiery orthodox enthusiasm to cold 
speculative theories was very gradual, but decidedly 
marked; and by the time the general public became 
cognizant of his changed views, his subtle and imper- 
ceptible efforts in changing the opinions of his con- 
gregation had been so potential, they followed him 
without once discovering that they were deserting the 
old theological landmarks and drifting into the realms 
of speculative liberalism. 

I will here say, that when any organized dogma be- 
comes speculative and is wooed over into theorism, it 
becomes mere drift at best, and the term drifting is 
most fitly applied. What satisfaction the good clergy- 
man obtained in thus drifting from something to noth- 
ing — from established belief to no belief — I cannot tell. 
I can only assert that it is a mystery to me, as a disin- 
terested observer, how one who had started out as a 
promulgator of well-founded doctrine, could become a 
smatterer of all the groundless theories advanced by 
imaginative cranks to confound and confuse men’s 
minds. 

To my mind, as a reformed devil, Christianity is the 
most excellent influence exerted among men, and I re- 
peat, it is a mystery how one trained and educated to 
enunciate a system so beneficial, could be transformed 


IIO 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


into an apostle of unsatisfactory ethicisms; and from 
positive knowledge, I assert, the Demon of Rum is the 
most successful agent in effecting such singular transi- 
tions. 

I had become acquainted with the good clergyman on 
an evening when one of his regular meetings was to 
take place. I went with him to the meeting, and while 
he sat there heavy and drowsy under the influence of the 
two devil’s “ smiles” he had indulged in, I was lively 
enough and deeply interested. 

Coldly he rose and went through the preliminary ser- 
vices; long habit would have enabled him to have done 
so had he been half asleep, instead of only a little drowsy. 
He recited the opening prayer — it was but a mere reci- 
tation, not the fervid supplication he was wont to offer 
in by-gone days ere rum had cast a blight over his holy 
enthusiasm. 

As I was a mere spectator I was prepared to calmly 
dissect the petition; it was but a rambling, running 
together of ethical conventionalisms, a cold formal pro- 
nunciation of gilded nothings. 

The conventional services proceeded until the point 
was reached when it came the clergyman’s turn to fur- 
nish the filling-in of time so as to occupy the usual hour. 
It was pitiable to hear this soldier of the cross, once 
clothed in the armor of a true and vivid faith, speak. It 
was evident that the old armor had become dusted over 
with baseless theories and flowery poetic ideas. They 
were pleasant to listen to, and, being advanced in beauti- 
ful language, presented an appearance of seeming excel- 
lence and consistency. But, alas ! any cold-blooded, 
clear-minded listener could have easily detected that his 
ideas were simply well-constructed conformities to the 
weak side of humanity, the swerved opinions which 
carried a decorous recognition over to the devil. The 


NOTHER PHASE OF THE REFLEX INFLUENCE. I 1 1 


latfcjr individual enjoys such advocacy of Christian 

lanitarian side of argument; 



comes clothed in the man- 


tle of a broad charity is his delight. What he hates 
and fears \s even that ill-regulated dogmatism born of a 
fervid faith. The one may claim to be an assault — it is 
but a caress. The latter is an assault, and it drives 
Satan back into the darkness whence he should never be 
moved. 

The meeting closed, and the clergyman returned to his 
home. I spent the night studying him, and could plainly 
see that his change of thought had been effected under 
the subtle inspiration of the Demon of Rum; the influ- 
ence had clouded his perception, vitiated his faith with 
its fumes, and had transformed a once valiant fighting 
soldier into a retreating tactician. He who had once 
assailed the devil in every stronghold became the bearer 
of a flag of truce, and spent all his energies seeking 
to establish a compromise between truth well estab- 
lished and liberalism based on craftily presented 
theories. 

Whiskey is alone responsible for this sad transforma- 
tion. I have presented but one case out of thousands. 
So blinded are the victims, and so cajoled by subtle in- 
fluences, they never discover the real cause of their deser- 
tion of truth for the support of the gilded lies that come 
under a million disguises. And I, a devil, again repeat 
that an established faith earnestly believed, and sup- 
ported even in conflict with the cold-blooded averments 
of science, is of more service to humanity than all the 
glittering ethicisms conceived in the realm of philos- 
ophy to torture the reasoning powers of a class incapable 
of grasping even the shadow of what is sought to be es- 
tablished. And again I declare, that the Demon of Rum 
is the enemy of the former and in sympathy with the 


1 1 2 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


latter, and fattens on the blood of thousands of victims 
whom mere ethics exposes to his influence. 

The phase I have just presented, though less horri- 
fying in its aspect than some other phases, is none the 
less fatal. 




I PRESENT ONE CASE AMONG MILLIONS, AND A 
PHASE THE SADDEST OF ALL. 

OR the love of heaven, give me a drink!” 
It was night; the bartender was just 
ready to go to his home after a day 
spent in dealing out poison to those 
who love poison for poison’s sake. I 
had not been on a trip that day, and 
was prepared to go down in my bottle when a woman 
rushed into the place, and in shrill tones uttered the 
exclamation quoted above. 

I came up and sat on my cork and looked at the poor 
miserable creature. Well, well, again I thought, if one 
such case as this is possible, it would seem that every 
human voice would be raised to curse a devil that could 
do such work; that every hand would be uplifted to stay 
an influence of which the poor miserable wretch who 
appealed for the drink in such wild, earnest tones, was a 
result. 

During my career as an imp of rum I have heard of 
many terrible instances of the work of alcoholism. I was 
present once when a young doctor, himself a moderate 
drinker and blind to his own peril, related the cases that 
had come under his own observation. He told how a 
8 



THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


1 14 

poor wretch had once stolen the alcohol in a hospital in 
which an abnormal specimen had been preserved; and 
how upon another occasion he had seen a child, the off- 
spring of drinking parents, afflicted with a constitutional 
stagger — a damning illustration of the reflex influence 
the curse was capable of assuming. But as the woman 
staggered in and piteously appealed for the drink, it 
struck me that after all her case was the worst phase it 
had ever been my ill fortune to behold. 

I could see the light of pity in the bartender’s eyes. 
Bartenders are not all heartless men — indeed, neither are 
liquor dealers, necessarily. Rum destroys the body, but 
it does not always succeed in destroying the nobler 
qualities of human nature — it controls them in certain 
directions, and steals the strength required to sustain 
them in their effective condition. But I have seen poor 
creatures that were shadows of men physically, miserable 
wrecks of manhood rolling into the grave, themselves 
pitiable victims, who were still possessed of generous sen- 
timents. My readers will remember that during my whole 
confession I have contended that it is those possessed of 
the most generous qualities that become the Rum Demon’s 
easiest victims; it is their generosity that enables the 
devil to get possession of them more readily and destroy 
them more rapidly. He even permits all the good quali- 
ties to flicker on, though holding them in subjection as 
concerns their contravening of his influence. 

It is a singular fact also, that men are not always blind 
to their lost condition; indeed, when fully in his power 
the Rum Demon sometimes permits his victims to per- 
ceive how they have been allured, but this unfolding 
comes when the discovery can bring no saving results. 
From the lips of the ruined wretches I have heard the 
noblest sentiments fall, floated on a consciousness of their 
own lost condition, and it would astonish the cold-blooded 


THE SADDEST PHASE OF ALL. 


115 

army of moderates did they know how many prohibition 
votes are secretly polled by despairing victims; and 
many more would be cast against the fiend if all who 
should, would rally to the standard and make a fighting 
chance for the foes of the devil. 

I will state further that I have known rum-sellers to be 
consistently charitable, and I could make a second start- 
ling assertion were it not that the fact might be mis- 
construed. 

I have said that I saw the light of pity shine in the 
bartender's eyes. It did; and there was pity in his voice 
when in the parlance of the bar-room he said: 

“ Kate, why don’t you take a tumble ?” 

“Oh, give me a drink ! just one drink !” 

The woman’s eyes sparkled with a hungry gleam; there 
was a maniac fire in her glance; her pale features — aye, 
her classic features — were convulsed with mad eagerness 
as she repeated her appeal. 

“ Have you had a drink to-day, Kate ?” 

“ Not a drop.” 

“ You will only get into trouble if I give you a drink.” 

“You needn’t fear; give me just one drink — it may be 
the last I’ll ever need !” 

“I’ll give it to you, Kate, but you’ll only get into 
trouble and be sent up.” 

“ I’m going up or down, Tom, pretty soon now. I was 
at the dispensary to-day.” 

“ Are you sick, Kate ?” 

“ Dying /” 

“ What is the matter with you?” 

The woman gave utterance to a hard, bitter laugh; 
her thin lips curled; a momentary redness, the hectic 
flush that internal decay sends to the cheek, carnated hers 
for an instant as she answered, “ Rum !” 

The poor creature would not deceive herself. She had 


Il6 THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 

reached the condition when the devil could throw off 
the mask. The doctor had said it was consumption; the 
woman passed the scientific diagnosis of her case and 
branded the death angel as he deserved. 

“ I am sorry for you, Kate !” 

“ Are you ?” said she in a peculiar tone. 

“ Yes, I am, Kate !” 

Having placed the bottle on the bar, the man waited 
until the woman had taken her drink, then, probably 
more from force of habit than anything else, tipped a 
few drops into a glass and wet his lips. It may have 
been but an act of courtesy, a recognition that in her dy- 
ing moments the poor wretch dropped for a moment 
her bitter, degraded past, and stood there the spectre of 
a lady. 

As the bartender touched his lips with the liquor, the 
woman demanded: 

“ Are you really sorry for me ?” 

“ I am, Kate!” 

The poor creature pointed her attenuated finger at 
the bottle. The shadow of the past seemed to sweep 
down upon her. Her memory appeared to run back 
to a former period. The voice rang out clear and dis- 
tinct, and her eyes gleamed with prophetic fire as she 
said: 

“Tom, you’re a good-hearted fellow; you have always 
been kind to me; listen: never wet your lips with liquor 
again or the day will come when you will need all your 
pity for yourself.” 

The creature glided like a spectre from the place, and 
the bartender laughed — yes, laughed. He, like thou- 
sands of others in present strength, could not see that he 
was in peril; he had not progressed far enough; the 
mirror had not been held up to him; the mask had not 
been dropped; the siren wooed him blindly along, as 


m THE SADDEST PHASE OF ALL. 1 1 7 

thousands are being wooed at this moment, with the 
wrecks of humanity lying rotting all around them. 

I went out with Kate, and swayed to and fro with her 
as she staggered in her weak condition, under the effects 
of one drink. 

The bartender’s warning was not needed, — the poor 
creature was too weak to attract molestation; decay 
had made too great progress. She had not the strength 
to make night hideous, as she had so often done, thereby 
earning the sobriquet of Howling Kate. And this howl 
had been, after all, but the result of intense agony under 
the lashings of a relentless conscience. She walked or 
rather staggered along with feeble step, silent and only 
physically intoxicated. The mind was clear; death was 
coming apace gently, as though reluctant to wrap in its 
coldness one who had once been so beautiful, pure and 
innocent. 

Though a devil, even I was tormented at being thus 
compelled to witness such agony. While I was en- 
sconced in that poor brain, the vials of bitterness were 
opened; the torturing agonies that revelled, appalled 
even me. It was a brain-chamber of horror; it writhed 
in sufferings too intense for madness; unconsciousness 
would not come; an outraged nervous system was taking 
its revenge; not enough of the sensitive organism re- 
mained to permit madness. The body was dead; the 
soul lived, and stood trembling under the shadow of 
death, under the prospect of going forth to the eternal 
judgment against the sins done in the body. 

I studied her history. She had married when quite 
young a noble, loving youth; she had been a beautiful 
girl; her husband had come to her from afar, and after 
the marriage she was carried to his own home, like 
Ruth, compelled to make his people her people, and 
where he dwelt she went to dwell also. 


1 18 THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP . * 

A child was born to them; the mother was young, 
grew weak and feeble, and one day an anxious lady- 
friend said, 

“ Kate, you will go off in a decline; you need some- 
thing to buoy you up; you are not able to nurse that 
child unless you take something to build up your 
strength.” 

“ What can I take ?” 

“ I always take a little liquor; it does me a world of 
good.” 

“What kind of liquor?” 

“I consider whiskey the best for a nursing mother; it 
is very strengthening.” 

The young husband came home: the wife said, 

“Arthur, I am real sick.” 

“We will call the doctor, my dear, and do whatever he 
recommends.” 

“ Mrs. was here to-day.” 

“Well?” 

“ She says all I need is something to give me strength.” 

“ You shall have it; we will call the doctor at once.” 

“ I do not need the doctor. Mrs. says all I need 

is a little whiskey.” 

A shadow fell over the husband’s face. He was a 
loving man. He rose from his seat, his face glowing 
with emotion, and advancing toward his wife said, in a 
strangely excited tone of voice, 

“ Kate, you cannot drink whiskey.” 

“Will you see me die before your eyes for the want of 
something to strengthen me?” 

The husband’s agitation was extreme, as he answered, 

“Yes, Kate; I would rather see you die before my 
eyes than see you take whiskey to obtain strength to 
live; and I love you as tenderly as man ever loved 
woman.” 


THE SADDEST PHASE OF ALL. 1 1 9 

“Very well; I will die a martyr to your prejudice.” 

“Yes, Kate; die a martyr to my prejudice rather than 
live in the presence of peril so great as tampering with 
the devil in the form of whiskey.” 

The husband walked the floor a moment, and at 
length resumed, 

“You must forgive me, Kate; I will see that your 
strength is not overtaxed; I will do anything to pre- 
serve you in health; devote myself to the work; but 
I’ll never consent to the use of liquor.” 

On the following day the husband returned home 
early. Greeting his wife, he said, 

“ Kate, I have decided what you need. I have pur- 
chased a carriage and team; you shall ride every day. 
Fresh air is the best tonic in the world; to-day we go 
together.” 

Strangely, the husband drove with his wife to the 
cemetery. They alighted from the carriage and walked 
through the winding paths, until they came to a grave, 
where the husband halted. On the slab was the record: 

“ Hannah, 

The beloved Wife of 

Died , — 

Aged 31.” 

Tears were in the husband’s eyes, as he took his wife’s 
hand, and said, 

“ Hannah was my sister.” 

Emotion choked his utterance for an instant; but 
presently he resumed, 

“ She took whiskey as a tonic. Spare me the details of 
her sad history: .she died a victim of liquor, and the 
curse never blighted a fairer flower. Kate, now you 
know whence my prejudice arises.” 

The wife was deeply affected. She resolved that she 



120 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


would indeed seek strength in another direction: she 
did. Time passed; a second child was born. Once 
more the wife imagined her health was failing, and 

again her friend, Mrs. , appeared in the character of 

a temptress. Kate was a visitor at Mrs. ’s house: she 

was feeling miserable. Mrs. masked the devil, and 

administered him; the liquor acted like a charm; the 
blinded mother admitted that she felt better, and said, 

“I know that a little liquor occasionally would do me 
good; but my husband has such a prejudice against my 
taking it.” 

“In some cases your husband’s fear might be well 
grounded; but the idea of your ever coming to like it as 
a beverage !” 

I laugh; yes, the idea! Did the poor mother forget 
her husband’s sad words, “Rum never blighted a fairer 
flower?” — and that flower was his own sister. 

A few days passed. Kate again visited her friend; 
again she took just a little of the strengthened and 
again she imagined that it did her good. 

Time passed; the moral influence had been gained by 
the devil; the wife had betrayed the husband’s faith, had 
gone contrary to his sacred warning. The devil had 
gained an opening, had stolen a link from the chain of 
affection; he took rapid advantage of his partial success. 

The liquor, as the wife imagined, did her good; then 
came the repeated siren declaration that she could never 
follow in the footsteps of the fated Hannah. The ser- 
pent extended his coils; she procured a bottle; imbibed 
secretly. The devil was enthroned in that household; 
he was kept in the shadow, but he did not mind that; he 
always acts in the shadow at first, biding his time to 
come to the front; he always comes. 

Time passed: the wife reached a condition where she 
imagined that she needed it for every ailment, and her 


THE SADDEST PHASE OF ALL. 


121 


husband lived on unconscious of the fact that his wife’s 
love and allegiance had been transferred from him to 
the custody of a fiend. 

Discovery would speedily have come, but business 
called the husband away to Europe. The fates com- 
bined against the wife; generally they do; but their 
combination would have been of no avail had she not, 
by a false step, made it possible for fate to turn against 
her in any particular direction. 

Released from her husband’s restraining eye, the 
wife’s yieldance to her appetite increased, and the 
tempter came in another form; the latter, also, could 
not have come with any show of success had it not been 
for the first false step. 

She went one day with her children to the sea-shore. 
Satan was in full feather, doing his work on every side. 
Poor Kate ! she had fallen so far as to find a charm in 
indulgence, and when she reached home the scene 
haunted her. Some days later she went alone, urged by 
a desire to indulge freely the fatal craving. She drank 
more than she had ever done before at one time; an evil 
eye fell upon her: evil eyes are always glancing around 
for the devil’s victims. A chance acquaintance was 
made; liquor had deadened all sense of modesty; the 
new acquaintance was the conventional man of the world, 
an insinuating, dangerous fiend in human form. She 
drank with him; the acquaintance was continued; meet- 
ings followed, until one day, when rum held her under 
its deadly influence, she became his slave. 

The woman returned home — returned to a dishonored 
home — to dishonored children. With the first conscious- 
ness of her crime there came a reaction. Horror filled 
her soul. The mask was dropped. The devil had made 
sure of his victim. Another fair flower had been blighted, 


122 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


had been scorched and blasted under the glare from the 
fires of hell. 

She sought to combat her sin. But alas! in her bosom 
burned a fatal secret — the secret demanded rum to 
soothe its fierce burnings; she could not retreat with 
that canker-worm gnawing at the very life of her ner- 
vous system. 

The husband was to return home. The wife and 
mother could not combat her appetite, nor could she 
face the man whom she had deceived and betrayed. 

The tempter still shadowed h ; er. He came with oil 
on his tongue, the allurements of Satan in his eye, and 
the liquid that soothes to sleep the watch-dog — con- 
science. He offered to take her as she was, to love and 
cherish the flower he had blighted. She was but a 
beautiful flower; she needed to be nourished and cared 
for. She determined to forsake the dishonored and flee 
to the arms of the dishonorer. 

It was a terrible moment when she stepped into the 
nursery to take a last look at her babes. She could not 
rob her husband of these. She would leave him misery 
enough. She knelt over the sleeping innocents, and her 

lips murmured “ I shall meet you in .” She stopped. 

The sudden revelation came to her that there was a gulf 
between her and those angels that could never be bridged 
over. She had destroyed behind her the bridge over 
which she had walked away from them, and she finished 
her sentence in tones of bitterest agony— “ I shall never 
see you more.” 

Kate was a woman of excellent frankness of character; 
she looked the situation she could not change squarely 
in the face, and realized that from that hour her mad 
joys were to be built over the smouldering fires of de- 
spair. 

The mother stole away. Mortal pen will never record, 


THE SADDEST PHASE OF ALL. 


123 


so as to convey a realization of the torture her sin carried 
with it, nor will the painter’s brush ever portray in skil- 
fully painted lineaments, the expression of anguish that 
was written upon her classic features. 

The husband returned. A brief note disclosed the 
awful truth. The sin that had separated them was 
properly classed; it came second to the one false step 
when against his earnest protest she secretly coquetted 
with the Demon of Rum as a strength-giver. 

Time passed. The reflex influence upon the husband 
was an influence of suffering alone — a suffering so in- 
tense that, like the fated French queen, his hair whit- 
ened, bleached by the white agony that lay a glittering 
icicle upon his soul. A few months passed and the 
younger babe died. The mother was not there to re- 
ceive its last life-glance, nor to imprint a warm kiss to 
carry it over the chill river of death. The father lived 
on in stoical misery, while the mother rioted on, a fevered 
spectre of her former self. 

Once Kate met Mrs. . The woman who had first 

put the poisoned chalice to her lips turned scornfully 
aside from the victim she had destroyed, and in her 
colder nature, making a purely physical fight against the 
devil, she looked forward to the crown which fashion- 
able Christians, such as she, delude themselves into be- 
lieving awaits them. 

Years passed. The second child, a lovely girl, died, 
unconscious of the fact that she had a mother walking 
the eanh in the purlieus of vice. Alas! was the revela- 
tion of the truth to come beyond the grave ? 

Time passed. The ruined woman was deserted by her 
tempter as she had herself deserted a noble husband 
and her helpless babes. She became a moral and phys- 
ical wreck. One night, reeling through the streets, she 
tottered and fell, and her once fair forehead was cut by 


124 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP . 


the jagged curb. A gentleman ran to her assistance, 
raised her from the ground and wiped the streaming 
blood from her face, when suddenly one wild cry of 
agony burst from his lips, — he saw, he recognized. Mer- 
cifully, unconsciousness came to the husband. He fell 
at the woman’s feet. She, frozen to sobriety, bent over 
him, pressed her polluted lips once to his brow and stag- 
gered away. 

When the husband recovered consciousness she was 
gone. He never recovered from the shock. Day and 
night that scene of horror haunted him. Day and night 
that vice-transformed face stood fixed in his imagina- 
tion, until at length death closed his eyes to the fatal 
sight. 

The wife lived on. The miserable wreck reduced 
to begging the liquid which at first had so wooingly 
come to her lips. And it was this Kate with whom I 
went staggering through the street upon that eventful 
night, and it was by the intense light of her agony I read 
the story I have told. 

I had but concluded the study when I was startled by 
a strange sound. I listened, because the poor soul I ac- 
companied listened. She stood in the glare of light 
that shot from the portals of a Christian home estab- 
lished as a lighthouse down in the purlieus of the city, 
where the devil has placed so many shoals. 

Kate listened. Then two words struggled from her 
lips; they came forth with a spasm that caused the red 
blood to crimson her lips, “Christ! Mercy!” She had 
overheard a few words that fell from the lips of a fervent 
speaker within the lighthouse. They came bearing 
healing and comfort to that soul just ready to pass into 
the presence of Deity: “ Though thy sins be as scarlet, 
they shall be white as snow!” The words fell like the 
cooling rain upon a parched field — they came to her like 


THE SADDEST PHASE OF ALL. 


125 


bright rays from a flash-light to guide her heavenward. 
They were like a life-boat sent out to snatch a drowning 
soul from the overwhelming waters. The words “ Christ ! 
Mercy!” were her last. The agitation accompanying 
them was too great for her enfeebled frame. The spasm 
brought the fatal hemorrhage. She had indeed taken 
her last drink. I came forth and glided away in the 
darkness, as helping hands from the lighthouse picked 
up the stark corpse of her who had drunk the liquid of 
destruction to gain physical strength, and had found it 
the deadly poison that had sapped the sources of all 
strength, physical and moral. 




CHAFER Ml 


THE OLD STORY, ILLUSTRATING THE INCONSIST- 
ENCY OF MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT. 

IT was Saturday night. The bar-room was 
| full of customers — the usual noisy Satur- 
day night’s crush. There were present 
employers and clerks; heads of firms, 
and porters; all mingled in the passing 
fraternalism that liquor carefully fosters. 

Looking as I did under the surface and beyond the 
present, it was a sad sight. In that room was forming, 
figuratively speaking, a cloud of misery which was to 
sweep forth and over, carrying heart-burnings and dis- 
appointment into many homes. 

From among them I selected my special study. There 
was a group at the lower end of the bar, a party of poor 
men whose scanty earnings were demanded at their 
several homes; but rum has no regard for the demands 
of home. The cry of hungry children, the moans of the 
sick in need of the bare necessities required for the con- 
flict with disease, do not melt the Rum-Demon. When 
men place themselves under his control, the fiend is in- 
exorable. He gloats over misery and suffering: I repeat 
he uses them as whips to lash his victims down the road 
to ruin; he forges them into chains to more securely 
bind the doomed. 



INCONSISTENCY OF MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT. 1 27 

The poor fellow whom I decided to accompany home, 
was a porter in an adjacent mercantile house. He was 
a rough-and-ready fellow, and lacking the allurements 
of rum, would have been a good husband and father. 
But no, the devil had secured him and the man’s path 
through life had been strewed with the miseries and 
sufferings of those who were the victims of the reflex 
influence. 

He was a constant visitor to the place throughout the 
week, and being good pay, was allowed to “hang up” 
the cost of his libations from Monday until Saturday. 
He was considered an honest man, and he so felt him- 
self; well, according to his light he was, — technically. He 
would not steal; his employers had perfect confidence 
in him. But let us consider a moment; was he not after 
all morally a thief, when each week he laid on the altar 
of the Rum-Demon a large proportion of his earnings, — 
the very money his wife and family needed for the pur- 
chase of food ? When he became a husband and father, 
he assumed certain obligations; and although their non- 
fulfillment may not be reached by the law of man, how 
must he who neglects them stand before the inexorable 
law of God ? 

This victim was a heavy drinker, and upon the night 
in question, when he settled his score for the week, it 
took one-third of his week’s earnings to clear the slate. 
With the balance in his pocket he lingered under the 
devil’s flash-lights arrayed on the bartender’s shelf and 
as he became more and more exhilarated he became also 
forgetful and reckless, and began to spend what was left. 
He laughed loud and merrily, and his freedom with 
his cash constituted him momentarily quite a hero. 

The hours passed and at length one after another de- 
parted, but my poor victim lingered until his last penny 
was gone. He had enjoyed “ a big time,” as he thought, 


128 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


but when his money was gone, his glory and importance 
departed also. He who had been a hero, became a 
nuisance; those wdio fawned upon him while he was 
ordering drinks, slunk away in the presence of his 
violence, and finally even the bartender could endure 
him no longer and thrust him from the place. The poor 
fellow staggered out and went swaying toward his 
home. 

While Pat was having his good time under the glare 
of gas in the bar-room there was a domestic drama in 
progress under the flickering light of a tallow candle in 
another quarter of the city. 

A woman with five children sat in a miserable apart- 
ment. Hers was a coarse face, but still capable of 
betraying expressions of suffering and sorrow; and in- 
deed it was a pitiful look that rested upon her counte- 
nance when a little pale-faced child approached and said, 
“ I am hungry !” Emotion choked the mother’s voice 
when she answered, Me poor child, ye will hev to wait 
’till yer feyther come home ! Shure, there’s not a crumb 
in the house !” 

“ When will father come ?” moaned the child. 

A tear trickled down the mother’s rough face. She 
could not moralize; she could only meet the cold fact as 
it was presented. The father was not home. Former 
experiences taught her that there was no telling when 
he would come home; and there was not a crumb in the 
house. 

The children waited, but at length nature came to 
their rescue. Sleep closed their little eyelids to the sad 
realities, and pleasant dreams tided them over the pass- 
ing deprivation. 

The mother sat alone; she was a sober, industrious 
woman, but having a nursing babe was unable to go out 
and work to procure the food which should have been 


INCONSISTENCY OF MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT. 1 29 

provided with the money her husband was spending at 
that moment in such a lordly manner. 

There was suffering in that house, real suffering, and 
disease — the latter the direct result of lack of proper 
nourishment. 

I learned the story as I have told it, from the wife’s 
Jips when with her husband I staggered across the 
threshold. 

" Ah, here you are !” was the greeting Pat received. 

“ Shut up !” came the answer in a thick voice. 

“ I’ll not shut up ! Where’s the food ye were to bring 
home, ye beggar ?” 

“ Is it food ye want ?” 

“ Yes; and yer children !” 

“ Well, take that instead !’* 

The brute, made a brute by rum, struck the poor 
woman a blow that caused her to reel and fall. She 
was used to such treatment, however, and one blow did 
not cause her to keep silent. But alas ! she was talking 
to deaf ears; the man had thrown himself across the bed 
where he dropped off into a maudlin slumber. 

The mother made an examination of his pockets. 
There was not a cent left of all his week’s earnings, and 
the expression of sorrow and disappointment that rested 
upon her honest face should have served as a reproach 
of sufficient force to the practice of rum-drinking to con- 
demn the indulgence forever. 

While the examination was in progress, I took a glance 
around the room. The evidences of the blighting in- 
fluence of rum were terrible to behold. And there are 
thousands of such wretched homes strewed along the 
pathway over which marches the Demon of Rum. In 
one corner stood an empty flour barrel. As I gazed 
upon this deserted habitation of a relative whose mission 
had been beneficent, I pondered and recalled how too 
9 


130 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMF. 


oft the whiskey jug supplants the barrel of flour. In- 
deed I was accustomed in my various pilgrimages to the 
finding of more empty barrels than full ones, and as I 
danced on the creaking staves I again realized that full 
whiskey jugs suggest empty flour barrels every time. 

I had read Pat’s history while staggering with him on 
his way home. He had once been a sober and industri- 
ous man, and had lived in quite comfortable quarters 
surrounded with all the necessary comforts; but when 
once he became a victim of the Demon of Rum, one 
article after another had disappeared, and squalor and 
deprivation succeeded. The home to which drink had 
brought him, was a mere pest-hole for the breeding of 
disease; and his family were not only compelled to face 
want, but all manner of pestiferous exhalations which 
always abound where there is neglect and filth. Where 
Rum reigns disease follows in his train. 

And right here is suggested an illustration of the in- 
consistency of municipal government. Enormous sums 
are appropriated for, and expended by, an organized 
Health Board, and every precaution is taken to extir- 
pate disease in order to avoid the risk of recurring 
epidemics. Such precaution is right and proper, and yet 
I laugh when I recognize the fact that a like sum is ap- 
propriated to support an Excise Board, a department 
organized for the granting of licenses to sell a poison 
that is the most fatal breeder of disease known to the 
medical profession. It is a fact that in no period of ten 
years has any contagious disease been directly and indi- 
rectly the cause of as many deaths as rum. A careful 
observer has stated that more men have died violent 
deaths in drunken broils since the appearance of cholera 
in New York up to the present time, than perished dur- 
ing the last visitation of that fatal epidemic. And when 
we add to the list, those who have died of diseases di- 


INCONSISTENCY OF MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT. 131 


rectly the result of the use of liquor, and add thereto the 
victims of the reflex influence, a catalogue of fatalities is 
presented that is simply appalling, and makes one shudder 
to think that in this age of enlightenment a community 
exists wherein such a ruthless destroyer is licensed and 
protected. Again I laugh when I behold health officers 
and their assistants going around to cleanse and fumi- 
gate, while dram shops are licensed by the thousands to 
distribute a liquid that is not only a direct breeder of 
disease, but is also responsible for that lack of proper 
nourishment, for that prevalence of filth, which carry off 
thousands of lives. And what is more appalling to con- 
sider, this licensed health destroyer is fatal not alone to 
its immediate victims; it directly and indirectly trans- 
mits disease through generation after generation. 

The object of the Health Board is to lower the annual 
death rate, while the result of license is to increase it. 
If all the diseased hearts, stomachs, kidneys and livers 
that are carried around in living bodies to-day, could be 
catalogued, the record would present an aspect such as 
has never been surpassed by any epidemic or plague in- 
flicted upon humanity. The latter may do more execu- 
tion in a given length of time, but add up the sum totals 
by decades, and the Rum Demon can give odds every 
time to the plagues and epidemics. 

The picture I have presented in the humble home of 
Pat’s wife, is but one of thousands where the whiskey 
bottle has entered the moderately comfortable home and 
driven out every comfort, and where in the end the Rum- 
Imp has reveled while the wolf howled, at the threshold. 


Right here I ask permission to suggest just one idea. 
If my readers would bring to the surface the undercur- 
rents of rum’s ravages, let them glance backward over 


132 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


the experiences of those whom they have known to be 
rum’s victims, and take a bird’s-eye view from the first 
drink to the last, and thereby uncover the mask under 
which the evil has been accomplished. The attacks of 
the evil are so subtle, so imperceptible; its work is done 
before its victims really realize that it has commenced; 
and no truer declaration was ever made than that “at 
the last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an 
adder.” 







I PRESENT A BULWARK OVER WHICH THE RUM 
DEMON CANNOT CLIMB. 

S my readers will remember, I stated that 
a number of bottles were filled from my 
barrel and put aside. Only a few of 
these remained, and my special career 
as a Rum Imp was nearing its end. For 
months I had lain idle, had been but a 
mere spectator, and in closing my narrative I desire to 
present a few passing glimpses of what may be seen 
daily in a fashionable bar-room. 

I have seen men with large incomes go on all their 
lives as moderate drinkers, men who were bountiful 
providers for their families, but who when cut off in 
their prime, left wives and children absolutely destitute, 
left them suddenly to plunge from comfort to want; 
whereas had the money spent for liquor, been put aside 
for their benefit, they would have been enabled to live 
in comparative comfort. 

I have seen the youth in the first flush of life, with 
bright eyes, clear complexion, and with the blood cours- 
ing through his veins like a mountain stream flowing 
swiftly over its crystal bed; and later on I have seen 



134 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP . 


those eyes sodden and bleared, the complexion ruined, 
and the temperate blood heated until it flowed through 
the brain like puffs of hissing steam. Where had been 
health and strength, there followed weakness and dis- 
ease; where had been high hope, there succeeded despair. 

I have seen men in the prime of life, fathers of fami- 
lies, naturally kind and generous, transformed into raving 
maniacs, all their finer sensibilities and affections crushed 
under the control of the Demon Rum. 

I have seen old men, those who in the long ago had 
yielded to the tempter, when they were fast nearing the 
end of life’s journey. And what preparation had they 
made ? I looked into the past over their shoulders and 
what did I see ? All along the road over which they 
had travelled lay decaying heaps of opportunities lost, 
of possibilities neglected, and their companions by the 
way had been mocking devils of selfishness and indiffer- 
ence. Alas ! in their old age they were tottering toward 
the grave, still heedless, still bound and fettered, every 
avenue to reform and repentance choked with hissing 
desires for more, more of the liquid of death. 

As I dwell upon these pictures, I am fain to recall the 
evil that one barrel of whiskey accomplished; and when 
I remember that thousands of barrels are consumed 
weekly, I shudder. 

Dear reader, I have related in detail but a few in- 
stances of the ravages of the Demon of Rum as witnessed 
during my own career. If you would at a glance behold 
the full extent of the Rum Evil, multiply the cases I have 
detailed seventy times over and you can form some idea 
of the work of a single imp. And to-day, even at this 
moment while I write, and at the moment when you read 
these lines, the evil work is going on. Just such cases 
as I have recorded are occurring in every direction. The 
wife is drinking for strength and drifting toward dis- 


A BULWARK. 


135 


honor. Mr. Moderate is denying his family little com- 
forts which otherwise they would receive. Deacon 
Moderate is turning his back upon the Cross; and the 
few clergymen who indulge are letting go the anchor of 
Truth and drifting out upon the sea of bubbling specu- 
lation. Youths are taking the first drink that shall woo 
them on to prison and disgrace. Business men are in- 
dulging moderately to-day, only to drink deeply to-mor- 
row, to be led over the hills tQ the poor-house. 

Yes, the arch fiend’s machinery is in full working 
order : the great fly-wheel of destruction is being well 
oiled by State Legislatures, Municipal Governments, and 
all the other influences which in the past have given 
countenance to the ruthless destroyer of all that is good 
and beneficent. 

Rum is a legalized and licensed traffic; and Rum is the 
arch-fiend of riots, the inciter of murder, the blight of 
virtue and innocence, the father of cripples, the mother 
of disease, the spirit of hate and the strong arm of re- 
venge, the curse of beauty, the insidious enemy of health. 
Rum turns friendship into enmity, converts affection 
into indifference. It hovers over the convivial board 
with a masked dagger, a cocked pistol, and a spiked 
bludgeon. Everywhere it is a blight, a destroyer, a 
curse, and yet, I repeat, it is a legalized traffic. Intelli- 
gence countenances it, false honor defends it, religion, 
through the practice of some of its disciples, encourages 
it; the silence of those who should be outspoken permits 
it; and they who assail it are assailed in turn. And this 
is called an age of advanced civilization ! I laugh, and 
challenge every thinking man in the world to point to 
one moral benefit that ever came as the product of Rum. 

In extreme cases, as a medicine it has alleviated suf- 
fering, like many other poisons; and against this one 
power for alleviation of physical pain, is arrayed a cata- 


136 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


logue of horrors directly attributable to its influence 
that have come down through the centuries in torrents 
of evil so overwhelming that one stands aghast at the 
power of its allurements. And it is a matter of surprise 
that the whole world does not rise up to extirpate the 
monster and crush from the face of the earth the slimy 
serpent whose glance is disease, whose breath exhales 
death, and whose hiss is the music by which fiends woo 
souls down to perdition. 

I stated in the opening paragraph of this narrative 
that I had remained idle for a number of months, but 
one day I was again called into service, and after a quick 
and exciting campaign, my career as an imp of the demon 
I had been compelled to serve so well, came to an end. 

One afternoon a gentleman entered the saloon and 
enquired, 

“ Have you any real, genuine, old whiskey ?” 

The enquirer was a young man, possessed of one of 
the handsomest, most refined and interesting faces I 
had ever seen; and a wail rose even to my impish lips 
as I saw presented the terrible possibility, that one so 
bright and fair should fall another of the many, many 
victims of the Demon Rum. 

In answer to the enquiry the bartender smiled the 
usual conventional smile simulative of superior intelli- 
gence, as he said, 

“We’ve got the best in the world.” 

“Well, let me taste it; I have drunk so much bad rum 
lately, I have almost been driven to swear off.” 

“ I’ve whiskey that will gladden your heart, my boy!” 

The bartender took down one of the bottles remain- 
ing from my barrel. He pulled the cork, poured some 
into a glass, and a moment later I was gliding between 
the lips of the most perfect physical organization I had 
ever been set to destroy. 


A BULWARK. 


13 7 


The customer extended his hand to the bartender as 
I disappeared, and exclaimed, 

“Truly, that is the best whiskey I ever tasted !” 

The bartender again smiled his gratification, and my 
victim poured down glass after glass of what the bar- 
tender had designated, “The best in the world !” 

While the expressions of mutual satisfaction were 
being exchanged, I improved the opportunity to investi- 
gate the man who valued me so highly, and I admit that 
I, an Imp, became charmed, aye, fascinated with this 
magnificent specimen of manhood. 

Arthur Generous, as I shall name this particular vic- 
tim, was the son of Christian parents. He had been 
truly trained and nurtured in the admonition of the 
Lord. Devoutness was a heritage, having come down 
to him through many generations. The truth of Reve- 
lation was to him an accepted fact from the very moment 
he had first learned to lisp his infantile prayers; and 
never during his whole career while under the parental 
roof, had he been permitted to wander away to where 
the influence of the Demon of Rum could cast his spell 
around him. 

But alas ! later on he did step aside; from a feeling of 
companionship he permitted himself to be drawn within 
the charmed circle. It was a long time before he suc- 
cumbed, so well entrenched had he been by good influ- 
ences. The approaches of the devil were necessarily 
very slow and subtle, but at length the bulwarks erected 
by parental precept and example, were breached; the 
inner lines of refinement, devoutness and self-respect 
were assailed, and at the time I found him, the work was 
being carried forward in the most persistent manner. 

Arthur Generous was so well pleased with “ the best 
in the world ” he insisted upon the purchase of all the 
remaining bottles in my barrel, and subsequently I weot 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


138 

with him to his home. He was a wealthy man, having 
succeeded to his father’s business — a well established 
one — and had never known financial anxiety. I found 
his home to be the abode of refinement and elegance, 
and the presiding goddess of the household — his wife — 
a lovely woman well fitted to adorn such a mansion; and 
as I learned speedily, also well fitted to defend her home 
against the assaults of the Demon of Rum. 

I had been but a few moments in the house when I 
learned that its master’s weakness, or rather the discov- 
ery of it by his beautiful wife, was of but comparatively 
recent date. I learned also that she had at once set her 
face against the enemy* At first she sought to argue 
with her husband, and had pointed out to him the sin 
and the danger; and he loving his wife had promised, 
but his promises one after another were broken. At 
length his wife adopted other tactics; she betrayed her 
impatience and disgust, she sought to mortify him, and 
withheld her loving endearments, and finally upbraided 
him in the most decided and forcible manner. But alas ! 
each week she saw how futile were her efforts, and how 
rapidly he was losing strength as his finer sensibilities 
were submerged under the evil influence. 

The time came when she began to despair. She was 
as keen and far seeing as she was beautiful, loving and 
faithful, and looking down the avenue of the future, 
taking the experiences of others as guide marks, she saw 
that in the end would surely come disgrace and sorrow, 
not alone to her husband who was yielding to tempta- 
tion, not alone to her who began to see in him a broken 
image, but even to her children, those innocent little 
angels over whom she had been set as a guide and pro- 
tector. And there came a dark hour in her life when 
she was prone to exclaim, “ Would they had never been 
born !” 


A BULWARK. 


139 


The wife, like the husband, had been reared under 
Christian influences; from her earliest infancy she had 
been wont to carry all her cares and all her troubles to 
the Mercy Seat, and during her struggles with the De- 
mon of Rum, she had done so. And still her husband 
appeared to be gliding down the road to disgrace. 

As I learned upon the night of my introduction into 
that home, the wife had expected her husband to accom- 
pany her in a call upon a friend. When dinner time 
arrived and he came not, the shadow fell over her soul. 
As the hours passed and still he came not, she became 
wrapped in the coldness of despair, and anxiety sat en- 
throned upon her brow. In this cold agony she sat 
down to her open piano in order to worry her mind from 
a contemplation of her sorrow, lest she should go mad. 

An open hymn book lay upon the piano and her eyes 
fell upon the words, “Come unto me all ye that labor 
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest, rest unto 
your souls !” 

The wife’s attention became fixed. There arose the 
question, whence came this promise? The answer fol- 
lowed the mental query. The promise was from Him 
who all her life she had been taught to believe could 
and would save to the uttermost all those who called 
upon Him in a spirit of true and trusting faith. The 
promise, if it meant anything, meant that it was extended 
to her, and that in it lay her only hope. 

The wife fell from the piano stool to her knees, and 
there alone in the sacred precincts of her own home, she 
prayed. J will not reproduce her petition, it stands 
upon the records of Heaven among the “accounts 
closed ” of the Recording Angel, but it was after this 
appeal to that Saviour who still says “Come unto me” 
that with her husband I staggered into the presence of 
the wife. 


140 THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 

It was midnight and as the husband tottered into the 
sitting room, the wife came toward him. Kindly and 
tenderly she assisted the reeling man to a chair, then 
she kissed him and went and brought his slippers and 
bending over him in a loving manner stood ready to per- 
form any other needed service. 

The husband was intoxicated, but he was a man of 
strong mental capacity and still able to discern the 
change in the manner of his reception. He had expected 
upbraidings, knew he deserved them, but in place of 
looks of scorn and taunting words, came kisses and 
tender attentions. He was partly sobered, taken all 
aback, as the term goes, and suddenly he exclaimed, 

“ Louise, why in thunder don’t you pitch into me and 
give it to me as I deserve ?” 

The wife came to him and kissing him said in gentle 
tones: 

“ I will never scold you again !” 

“ Never scold me again ?” 

“ Never !” 

“ Why not ? hang it, I deserve it !” 

“ No, poor man ! poor man ! you are past that point 
where scolding will avail. You are not responsible for 
your acts; the devil has you now; your manhood and 
strength are gone ! Oh, how I pity you !” 

No more was said that night, and the following morn- 
ing Arthur took a “ nip” from the bottle he had carried 
home, and I accompanied him to his place of business. 
He was in a thoughtful mood. He glanced backward 
and saw how he had fallen. He looked forward and 
the question came “ Where will it all end ?” But alas ! 
he did not resolve to stop right there: he lacked the 
strength. He half promised himself he would stop some 
time, but did not put his foot down and say “I will stop 
now i” 


A BULWARK. 


141 

When I again staggered home with him that night, a 
feeling of shame caused him to steal into the house. 
Once within the hall he removed his boots and stole 
stealthily upstairs, extinguishing the lights as he passed 
along. Soon he stood beside his own bedroom door. 
The latter was partly open. He looked in and across to 
an adjoining room, the door of which was also open, and 
there he beheld a sight that transfixed him. 

As I afterwards learned, the children had been to a 
birthday party, and the mother was just putting them 
to bed after their innocent little frolic. A beautiful 
sight was presented; the children were in their night- 
dresses and the mother stood over them as they kneeled 
beside their little bed. 

The drunken father gazed and listened as the mother 
guided them in their accustomed prayer. The “ Now I 
lay me down to sleep,” had been spoken and there 
came a pause. The children would have risen, but the 
mother gently laid her hand upon them and kept them 
upon their knees. A moment and she was leading them 
in another petition, to that same Saviour who had said, 
“ Come unto Me !” 

The children did not know or understand who was the 
special subject of their petition. The mother shrouded 
the ghastly truth; but the father did interpret, and well 
understood for whom and for what his children were 
praying. It was a crisis which concerned eternity, and 
as with the father I listened, it seemed to me that silence 
pervaded the very vaults of heaven: it seemed as though 
the celestial choir ceased their song and all heaven 
listened while the infantile prayer was ascending to the 
ears of Him who sits upon the great white throne. 

The prayer was concluded; the father trembled; 
there came from his swelling bosom a sob, and borne on 
the sob there came also a wailing “ Amen.” The chil- 


142 


THE CONFESSIONS OF AN IMP. 


dren prayed and the father standing there, his soul 
aroused to a full consciousness of the enormity of his 
sin, emphasized the prayer and carried it nearer and 
nearer to the Saviour’s heart through that “ Amen,” the 
outcome of a quickened spirit. With that Amen I came 
forth, or rather was thrust forth a defeated Imp. And 
it seemed as though suddenly there resounded through- 
out the space of heaven one glad acclaim and anthem 
of praise and thanksgiving in fulfilment of the Divine 
declaration of the greater joy over one sinner that re- 
penteth. 

Yes, I came forth a defeated Imp. The woman had 
planted her heel upon the head of the serpent. She had 
sought that strength — the only strength sufficient to 
overcome the Demon of Rum; and when her husband 
joined his appeal, born of faith, the devils fell back and 
slunk away ! 

Upon the following morning when the husband and 
father broke the remaining bottles from my barrel and 
let the liquid of death run to the sewer, the Angel put 
his foot upon my neck, and as I writhed beneath his 
heel I could not complain, for I was a monster that de- 
served to be slain. 

The wife who had sought the only aid against which 
the Demon of Rum cannot contend, had regained her 
husband and saved her children; and by one stroke had 
caused to be rebuilt all the bulwarks over which the 
imps of the Rum Demon had climbed; and when I had 
been crushed under the foot of the Angel, there arose a 
fortress forever unassailable by any influence within the 
power of the Arch-fiend, whose greatest weapon is Rum ! 


My story is told; and I challenge any reader to say 
that aught has been set down in malice or one experience 


A BULWARK 


143 


exaggerated, as related in the foregoing pages. I have 
no comments to offer: comments I leave to others. I 
have but presented facts, and pointed out through them 
whence the evil cometh and how it is encouraged and 
sustained. And now it remains for those who control 
the influences indicated to decide whether they shall be 
continued to the destruction of thousands of their fellow 
men and women, or whether they shall be so exerted 
as to crush a monster whose victims are counted by 
the millions and from whose assaults no household is 
secure. 











/USX ISSUED. 


JUST ISSUED 


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NEW FAMILY COOK BOOK. 


BY MISS JULIET CORSON, 

Author of “ Meals for the Million,” etc., etc. 
Superintendent of the New York School of Cookery. 


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BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER: 

A FEW DAYS AMONG 

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